Hummingbird
by evermineeverthineeverours
Summary: Like hummingbird in flight you are Hovering, hovering near me, as I Move near you fly away
1. Chapter 1

The lace caressed her skin, beginning at her shoulders drawing down her arms and cuffing at her wrists. The ornate Baroque designedly lace opened at her décolletage, hugging the heart of her breasts and trim waist, she knew its design would gather a few glances. A heavy trim waist flowed into a heavy ball gown. The dress was nothing short of breathtaking. She had dismissed all help. She wanted to take these last few moments to gather her sanity. She wanted her solitude before facing them all.

There were thirty buttons.

She had managed fifteen without asking someone to return. Her hands struggled to shove the rest through their loops. As her hands stretched, muscles burning, and attempting to accomplish the impossible of her heavenly dress, she felt another touch. A familiar touch and the rough calloused fingers against her bare skin made her shudder.

_Button 16._

She damned picking an opened back dress.

He stroked his finger against her spine again.

_Button 17._

He paused and her breath hitched, her eyes fell shut and heavy lashes touched the apples of her cheeks.

"Liv," He spoke roughly.

"Mr. President," She whispered and raised her head steeling her gaze ahead, "If you would finish, I have a wedding to attend."

It had been three years since she sent him back.

Their contact had been very limited, corresponding at State dinners, fundraisers, mutual friends' birthday parties and the occasional dalliance that she afforded herself. There were moments when the pull was too strong and Olivia had to stop torturing herself.

The days when he smiled into the camera and said, "hello," she crumbled. She swore that he was speaking to her. His charming smile, eyes crinkling, and brown curls blowing in the bitter winter breezes. He never looked more handsome. The moments when she swore, he knew that she would be watching. Sometimes, she would call and others it seemed like he… knew. They had been become more infrequent in the last year with the inclusion of David and birth of Abby and Stephen's son.

Everyone was busy. Everyone had a job to do. She had once told him, there was a perk to working for yourself. She found it was hardest to be 'the boss' now. It was hard to be Olivia Pope. It was toughest to hold everything together. She found that her resolve crumbled. She couldn't be the glue so easily anymore. Maybe, it was her age. Maybe, it was all the changes. Maybe, it was the lack of him in her life. Whatever it was – it hurt.

"Livie," He attempted again and undid one button, his hand slid around her waist and rested on her hip, "Listen to me."

Clenching her eyes shut, she ground her teeth momentarily, shook her head quickly, took a deep breath and stepped away.

"No, Fi-Mr. President."

The slip nearly bypassed her. She refused to take that step back now.

"Olivia," He cleared his throat to clear the gruffness, "Why are you doing this?"

She whipped around, absolutely furious. He didn't have any grounds to question her judgment. He was hardly the picture of moral character, "Finish the damn dress or get out."

Her eyes narrowed warningly and he seemed to understand that she was not kidding. Olivia teetered on her heels. They were hardly any height but she felt anything but sturdy on her legs right now. She attempted to regain her composure, turning her head away, swallowing her pride, and keeping her back to him. She could feel his heavy breathing – deep, long, and unrested breaths as if he were contemplating his next move.

She knew that he was.

"Finish the dress, Mr. President," Olivia implored him quietly.

The tears welled in her eyes and all she could do was keep breathing. If she didn't keep breathing, she would never leave this room. She had to leave this room. She had to leave this room. She had to walk away because Olivia couldn't keep being that woman.

His woman.

Her eyes fell shut again. A soft struggled breath found its way beyond her lips and Olivia's hand clasped together. She wrung her fingers and insisted, "The dress."

"I.." Fitz began, he swallowed thickly and he fumbled with a button, "I can't, Livie."

She took the step away and toward the door. Her foot snagged on the hem of her long dress. She shook in her heels and Olivia could feel herself falling.

Suddenly, his hand was gripping her bicep. The other rested easily on her waist. Then, he was grabbing and tugging her to his chest. She was sure that his hands were everywhere. Olivia was disappointed that they weren't. She felt consumed by his touch. A touch that she managed to abstain from for nearly a year and Olivia had felt like she had graduated from AA. Stephen and Abby had cautioned her from inviting him. She was sure that she hadn't. Somehow, Mellie always seemed to obtain an invitation to anything and everything that she wanted to attend. Olivia knew that this was the final nail in the coffin for the First Lady. Olivia was no longer the mistress. She was just… Olivia Pope, bride and if only life were so simple.

Her breaths came hard and fast. She could smell his spicy cologne. It reminded her of winter and his love of camping in the Californian mountains. Finally, Olivia looked at him. The few moments earlier had been in rage and her eyes hadn't truly looked. Now, she braved it. It was a mistake. His hair was grayer. It only intensified how undeniably sexy that Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III was. There was nothing that did not ooze sexiness about him. David was sweet and cute, but Fitz was sexy. Olivia hated herself for comparing them. She was cuddled against his chest. A hard chest that never seemed to soften with age and her fingers were tightly nestled in his black coat. Her heart was hammering in her chest.

His eyes met hers. He was going to kiss her. Olivia's fingers tightened and she wanted to tug him toward her. He had matured. They both had. She had wanted everything from him. He had the world at his disposal. He could buy her Tiffany's in an apology. At first, their had been millions of dollars worth of gifts. Eventually, he had understood. The only thing that she had ever wanted would never be obtainable. Not because he wasn't willing to give it but because of the same reason as before. He was still Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III.

A great man.

The tuxedo brought her back down to reality. A sick twist of irony.

She was in a wedding dress.

At her wedding.

But not theirs.

Olivia wrenched herself from his arms and brought a hand to forehead. She was so angry. She was so furious that he had overstepped his boundaries and touched her. Technically, he had saved her from falling onto her ass but that was beside the point. She stared at the ground and willed the words to come. Olivia could hear the sound of her breaking heart. It was followed by the sudden sound of gulp. He had swallowed his reply.

Olivia knew that she had won.

Finally.

It was over. She had been attempting to 'escape' him for years and was incapable. In the small Victorian room, she had managed to reduce the President of the United States to silence. It was a great win but Olivia didn't feel victorious. She steeled her job and waited for the tears to settle in her eyes. They came and she squeezed them away with a heavy mind. She had wished that this battle had never been hers to fight. Olivia wished that things could be so different. She brought her hands down to the dress' skirt and pressed out invisible wrinkles. She needed to busy her hands and inadvertently busy her mind. In a few moments, they would be asking her to step outside, put on a smile, and "marry the man that she loved." The man that she loved had yet to button up her dress. Olivia couldn't speak again, she may ask him to unbutton it.

Nevertheless, his fingers made quick and silent work of the buttons. They looped in and out of the silk slips without any resistance. At the last button, he paused and she held her breath. She felt him take a step closer. His footsteps were nearly silent on the hardwood floor. She wondered how he had even managed to sneak in. Olivia took a deeper breath and waited for him. She waited for the inevitable. Despite knowing that she shouldn't had, Olivia's anticipation heightened and a shot of arousal spread over her body.

One last time.

His cheek brushed against her that had been pinned into a classical chignon. Fitz had always admired her hair in loose ringlets. He had occasionally caught the more natural curls and enjoyed it. She could practically feel his disapproval radiating in waves. This wasn't his wedding though. His opinion made little difference to her. She attempted to convince herself of this.

Chewing on her lip, she waited and inadvertently relaxed when his breath tickled her ear, "Fitz," she whispered.

His hand wrapped around her, resting on her stomach, and Olivia sucked in a breath. It had been so long. The flat palm of his hand on her stomach made her entire body hurt. She didn't want this to be the last time. Olivia wanted to tell him. She wanted to plead with him to ask her again. She wanted to explain, she had been foolish then. She was wiser now and knew that living without him was impossible. Olivia wanted it to… say it all. She knew that was irrational. She knew that she couldn't. That was impossible. His words struck her.

"Be happy, Olivia," He added brokenly and his lips skimmed her cheek before pulling away.

Forever.

* * *

Hello everyone.  
Thank you for reading and hopefully, enjoying my stories.  
No, I don't own these characters or any characters of my fan fictions. I simply enjoy manipulating them to my own devices.

I would like to clear up any possibly confusion. This does read as a "one-shot," but it is a multi-chaptered story.

I would appreciate any reviews or constructive criticism that you have to offer. All the best, S


	2. Chapter 2

Forever was a lot shorter than Olivia expected.

In retrospect, she could not believe that Olivia Pope had ceased to exist. Technically, she was Olivia Rosen. As they sat at the 'wedding table,' David held her hand and stared lovingly at her. She smiled back and her eyes glanced back to the various tables filled with their friends, business associates, and of course, the President of the United States.

There had to be a law against the President crashing your wedding.

If not, there had to be a divine rule that said, your ex-boyfriend couldn't crash.

She focused her attention back on David. He was still not able to convince her to take his name. He was relentless but she had built a reputation on it. There was a lot said for names in Washington D.C. Olivia knew there was an underlying and selfish reason why she wouldn't change it. Even Abby had attempted to reason with her. She had struggled for Olivia to come clean but she hadn't uttered a word different from her usual tune. They had bickered abhorrently. Abby abided with her high standards that Olivia wouldn't find happiness unless she helped herself. Her usual spiel that Olivia should be the person that "helped people" and not the selfish being that did things for her own good. Olivia maintained that her reputation was built on Olivia Pope and not Olivia Rosen, it would be damaging to her business to change it. Abby and the team knew horseshit when they smelled it, and the topic was dropped. Eventually, no one dared utter a word again.

The engagement to David had already been enough of a surprise.

Despite their years of bantering, Olivia knew that David had forgiven any wrong between them. The smiles that he fixed her with were genuine, which was a true rarity among the streets of Washington. It reached his dark eyes that almost possessed a cat-like quality and always shone with laughter. When he whispered her name at night, tugging her close, lips skimmed over neck and shoulders, he never thought of anyone else. Olivia couldn't ever say the same. There was never anything guilty about David Rosen. He wore the "white hat." She had tossed that off and hidden it into her closet long ago. She wanted to hate him for his beautiful naivety but its what endeared her to him as well. She could never enter a church again. Her sins would immediately flay her. David walked blindly into anything and was more a Gladiator than she. At the end of the day, David Rosen stuck to the laws because he truly believed in them. She had only ever used them as a term of guidelines.

Olivia had detached herself from David's stares and sweet words with a practiced whimsical smile. She had stood in front of the mirror for hours each day practicing it. Olivia knew that the wedding would be her test. Now, she floated between the guests, her dress quietly swishing beneath her, and she shook hands with the best of Washington. There were some that hugged her. They all had the same comments: "about time" and "we're so happy for you." She graciously laughed and thanked each one of them. The smile never really met her eyes.

Cyrus always had to be different.

He cupped her hand, kissing the top, and shaking his head, "You look stunning, Olivia."

The corner of her lips twitched at his praise. Despite their differences, Olivia found the ability to forgive him. She knew that their differences had parted them unforgivably and even ripped her apart with the President at times. Olivia knew that some things wouldn't need intervention to drive them apart. At one point, she could have believed that not even God could tear them apart. Her foolishness in love had made her reckless. Olivia refused to 'lose her head' over a man and potentially all that she had built. Notwithstanding his unethical approach, Cyrus had the best intentions for both them. As her father had passed years ago, he had been the only man that she could turn to. At first, Olivia had thought that a man walking her down the aisle was silly. At David's insistence that they have a traditional wedding, in their modern world, Olivia asked Cyrus and he readily accepted. In college, he was her mentor. In the worst times, he was her enemy. In the best times, he held her and promised the world. Today, he had walked her down the aisle without judgment or question. It was exactly what she needed.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and clutched him close. She asked him quietly, "Tell me that it will fade."

"It won't," He added honestly, "but be happy because they need him more. And you know that."

She pulled away, nodding hastily. The masochism of their relationship sunk in again.

"I know," She echoed and kissed his cheek.

Her smile returned – practiced so many times that her cheeks were hurting already, "Where is James?"

On the cue, the other man flounced to his husband's side and brought her into a tight squeeze, "Simply marvelous." He waved a hand over his impeccable suit and winked, "You don't look bad either," He laughed mischievously.

Olivia smiled genuinely and squeezed him tighter, pulling away, "You didn't bring Christopher."

They hastily shook their heads and James supplied an explanation, "We aren't the type to bring children to weddings, dear. We have class." His eyes tilted over to a small bunch fawning over Bradley, the small redheaded son of Abby and Stephen, "That hair color is so unfortunate."

Olivia smacked James' chest and snorted, she couldn't necessarily disagree.

"I've invested too much time with you two. I'm going to…"

Her words were cut off by the distinctive voice of a woman that she had come to loathe.

Olivia had not loathed Mellie Grant always. She had respected her. She was cold, calculating and often manipulative. Those were not the traits that Olivia had loathed. She had mediocrely respected her occasional cutthroat methods to receive her place in the world. She had given up her prestigious law career to support her husband's race in political campaigns. She was undeniably intelligent. There were many ways that Olivia envied Mellie Grant. There was far more ways that she envied her than Olivia wished to admit. Unfortunately, it was her dive into her ruthless campaigns to manipulate the President that left Olivia bitter. A place that was not hers.

Swallowing her repulsion, Olivia whirled around and smiled, "Madam First Lady, it is an honor that you accepted our invitation to attend."

Mellie scoffed, "None of that, Olivia. It's your day."

Olivia rolled her eyes and attempted to cover it with Mellie's clear attempt at flattery. In honesty, she was tired of this washed up attempt to be friendly.

"Thank you," She replied stiffly, "Are Karen and Jerry here?"

"No, Karen decided to stay and watch Christopher," She nodded to Cyrus and James.

Olivia nodded in recognition. A shift of tension rose between them and Mellie sipped her champagne.

"Who designed your dress," Mellie hastily asked and brushed a hand over the skirt, "It's lovely. I would love for them to design something for an evening."

"Píccolo, he's a lovely Italian designer that only makes dresses for women of…" She smirked, "shorter stature."

James sniggered into his champagne.

Mellie raised a brow and smiled tightly, "Well, aren't you lucky?" Her eyes drifted to David suggestively.

"Indeed."

The rich baritone threw her off center and Olivia immediately knew that forever never meant 'eternity.' 'Eternity' could be shattered in an instant by one stupid moment. This would be her stupid move. Cyrus met her gaze and she cleared her throat, Olivia couldn't make any more stupid moves. She had made enough to last her a lifetime. She was a married woman. Her marriage to David was a good thing. He instilled support and stability into her life. While there may not be the inescapable passion that she was accustomed to, Olivia had grown adapted to the mediocrity that would become her life. If nothing more, David would never hurt her.

Quickly turning and muttering an "excuse me," she smacked embarrassingly into the hard plains of his chest. Her hands jumped up to block from falling. Her nails gripped his cotton shirt and clung to him momentarily. Swallowing, Olivia attempted to dislodge herself from him. His large hands reached for her arms and she wrenched out of them. A tremor crawled down her body and she steadied her legs, longing her strides, and refused to look at him.

"Ms. Pope," The President of the United States attempted to reason or perhaps apologize for nearly knocking her on her ass. Olivia kept moving, waving a hand behind her as an acceptance of whatever he meant to say.

Her heart was thundering in her ears. She could hardly breathe. The lack of oxygen made her feel like she was floating or like she smoked some great college marijuana. She would never admit this, but marijuana had gotten her through many overbearing college exams. Right now, she felt her body momentarily relax and the soft pressure that had developed behind her mind had dissipated. She released her breath and it all swam back again.

Rushing toward the women's lavatories, Olivia needed a moment to gather. Her eyes drifted to the clock. The 'first dance' was quickly approaching. She walked faster but was blocked by David. He stood before the dimmed hall to the lavatories and hands grasped hers.

Her eyes widened – he had surprised her, and laughed softly, "What are you doing?"

"Kissing you," He insisted and brushed his lips gently over her.

Pulling away, his fingers tucked a few loose strands behind her ear, "You are a vision in white."

She smirked, she found it hard not love him. She loved him like… a way that you loved your dog. She infinitely loved her dog. Now, Pots was technically their dog. He was loyal, sweet, and attentive. Olivia looked forward to coming home to him. At the end of the day, she enjoyed cuddling up with him. When he snuggled into her, Olivia felt warm and safe. Pots' was not much different than that.

Steering away from the dog analogy, the sex was nice. Her orgasms were steady – usually, but they weren't passionate. They weren't fiery. They rose and fell in a simplistic fashion. They never engaged in oral sex. Olivia attempted not to dwell on it, because she knew that not every man enjoyed it. Sometimes, she swore that it was a job requirement for POTUS – must enjoy giving and receiving oral sex. When she mentioned it to Abby, she had laughed so hard that coffee bled through her nose. For the most part, Olivia's bland life had just given her simple content. She had found a way to be happy.

"I always wear white," Olivia reasoned and caressed his hair.

It was spindly. It was soft but pricked her fingers. There wasn't a curl in his hair. Bone straight. His hair was very reminiscent of his demeanor.

"I was on a mission," She titled her head behind him.

"You're always on a mission, Livie," He teased and kissed her again but more deeply.

The nickname still stung but Olivia had stopped correcting him. He always seemed to find a variation to suit his needs anyway.

She accepted it for a second and jumped back when someone cleared his or her throat. Silently, Olivia was grateful for the reprieve.

Olivia melted seeing Stephen and practically flew into his arms. He had been the only constant man in her life. A man that had never tempted to bed her no matter how roguishly handsome he was. He could charm anyone but had only used his charms on her for good. If you could call what he said to her as 'good'.

"Ah, the only man that I can never compete with," David laughed and shook his hand.

They all laughed. A comrade established months ago.

David nodded, "I'll go establish territory with the other guys," He winked and departed.

When he left, Stephen addressed her.

"Running away," Stephen teased and kissed her brow.

Olivia was about to answer and there was a sudden yank at her dress. Typically, she would have grown angry but Olivia was not surprised to see the little bobbing redhead at her knees. Olivia hurriedly picked up her only godchild and hugged him to her chest. His small hands patted her hair affectionately and giggled. Olivia pressed her face into his hair and inhaled the sweet scent of his shampoo. She swore that if innocence had a smell than he was it.

"Bradley, never grow up," Olivia requested and kissed his cheek.

He giggled and played with the neckline of her dress.

"I thought we talked about not inviting them," Stephen tried again.

Olivia's gaze was focused on Bradley and how his little chubby fingers managed to trace every weave and stitch of her dress.

"I didn't invite them. Our First Lady secured an invite," She muttered angrily.

Stephen snorted, "That's classy."

"What is," Abby piped up and wrapped an arm around Stephen's waist, "Practicing, Liv?"

Olivia shot her a withering look and her best friend laughed.

"POTUS and the First Lady are wedding crashing," Stephen filled her in.

Abbby raised a brow, "Do you think that we could kick them out?"

Laughing, Olivia shook her head and bounced Bradley, "I still have a reputation. That would be uncouth."

Abby sighed and muttered harsh words.

Stephen cocked his head toward Bradley and they both snorted. Bradley knew more secrets about Washington's elite than any of them cared to think about. They only wished that he would never repeat them – ever.

"Did you practice your dance," Abby questioned.

"It's a simple waltz," Olivia shrugged and cooed at her godson. Her gaze was fixed on his bright eyes and Olivia realized that her children were destined to have dark eyes. She had always imagined them with piercing eyes that reminded you of sunshine on windows. In a fleeting moment, that dream had evaporated as well. She curled a red lock of hair around her finger, "David was the one who needed practice." She smirked and winced, "My poor toes."

They all laughed and soft music began to play. She felt them announce her 'first dance' and Olivia hesitantly met their inquisitive gazes.

"I have the car out back," Abby offered.

Olivia broke out into a grin and handed her Bradley, "Thank you. All three of you. I…" She swallowed and contemplated whether or not to tell them. Olivia had attempted to not keep secrets from them.

Finally, she mentioned quietly, "He told me to 'be happy.'"

They both shot her curious looks and she nodded, "I'll explain later."

Turning, Olivia pensively moved toward the dance floor to cement the beginning of her new life.

* * *

Hello dear readers,

I cannot tell you how amazingly grateful that I am. I've really enjoyed reading your reviews. They've made my week. I really appreciate every one of them. When my phone chirps with a new message from , I cannot help but grin (even if I am in the middle of my class). You're all absolutely magnificent.

Therefore, I am updating early. I have decided to move my updates to Thursday. I know no one wants Scandal to end. So, I am hoping that this will quench your Scandal thirsts until next week. I'm going to add that when chapters are under 1,500 words then I will update on Thursday and Sunday.

I hope that chapter two did not disappoint. I know that everyone wants more Fitz. He's coming (wink wink) and you'll see lots of interaction in chapter three and four. I've written seven chapters thus far. It's nowhere near finished. It's actually only just begun. I do hope everyone enjoys long fics because this one is shaping up to be.

**Disclaimer:** Unfortunately, I don't own these beautiful characters. If I did, Mellie would reach an unfortunate fate in Air Force One or car. So sorry, Mellie. (;

Once more, thank you so much! I love reading your reviews. I am so flattered by them. All the best. xoxo


	3. Chapter 3

She danced with David.

She danced with Cyrus.

With James.

With Stephen.

With Huck.

With Harrison.

With Abby.

Twice.

Currently, her fingers were interlocked with Abby. They were dancing, swinging their hips, grinning, giggling, and recollecting their first years together when only graduation seemed pertinent. For once, all night, Olivia could not wipe the smile from her face.

As the song drew to a close, she and Abby parted. Olivia moved to the side and sipped a glass of champagne lightly. It was her third flute.

Her envy grew as Abby and Stephen attempted to dance with Bradley. Their feet fumbled but they seemed to be having a good time. He wanted to bounce and squeal to the loud music. Still, Olivia noticed from their nearness that Abby and Stephen would appreciate a moment to themselves. Placing her glass on an empty table, she stepped in and insisted a dance with Bradley. Her friends hastily refused and acknowledged it was her wedding. They encouraged her to dance with David. Olivia ignored their lack of subtly and picked up Bradley before they could further quarrel with her. Lifting him into her arms, she tugged off his shoes and tossed them off the dance floor. Placing him back down, he jumped and giggled. His small chubby hands clenched three of her fingers as they danced together.

Occasionally, he would step on the hem of her dress. She never minded. He was bewitched by the easy sways of her dress and asserted, she was a 'pincess.' Olivia never argued. His adoring stare made her feel like one. Eventually, she could see his eyes beginning to droop and his movements became slower. She couldn't interrupt Abby and Stephen. They had done more for her than she could admit to them. She gathered him into her arms, kissing his bright red hair (which suited him well but would cause him much grief in the coming years), and brought him to their table. Scourging the bag for his bottle, she found it and he readily accepted it.

Olivia entered the dance floor again. Thankfully, the music had slowed to a simpler song. She rocked. Hugging him close, Olivia nuzzled into his hair and sighed sweetly. He smelled so saccharine and was warm against her chest. She could practically feel her biological clock ticking. While Olivia never believed herself to be the maternal sort, Bradley had changed her whole perception. Abby had been a nervous wreck through her pregnancy. She had wanted to do everything that they did. Stephen and she had fought miserably, because Abby constantly endangered herself. Olivia knew that she would never be any different. She would always want to do things for herself.

Embracing Bradley, Olivia closed her eyes and danced a waltz. Snoring against her, his head tucked between the crux of shoulder and neck, Bradley subconsciously petted her hair. The bottle slipped from his hand and between their bodies. She held him tighter and made sure that the bottle wouldn't skid down and stain her dress. She kissed his cheek and her lipstick smudged against it.

As fingers grazed her shoulder, Olivia was brought back into reality and she beamed, "Hey." She paused, "I've decided to steal him."

Abby chuckled quietly and fingers threaded through his hair, "Until, he shits himself all the way up his back. Good luck."

She wrapped her arms around Olivia and they rocked together. Olivia released a short breath, "Are you happy, Abby?"

She snorted and begrudgingly admitted, "Unbearably."

Olivia chuckled, "Romantic."

Abby swatted her back, "Never."

Sighing, they remained silent and danced with Bradley between them.

"May I cut in?"

She should have heard them. The distinctive footsteps that graced the halls which Olivia had listened for everyday when she worked on his campaign. The sleek dark loafers never held anything less than a shine. When he walked there was a distinctive click so loud that they were similar to a stiletto. Women had lighter footsteps in heels than him. Olivia had always been observant. Somehow, he had always managed to sneak up on her. She never understood it. Tonight, Olivia would write it off to Bradley weaving his spell on her.

Abby raised a brow and soberly added, "No."

Olivia choked audibly but managed to chuckle quietly, she grinned.

Subtly, her eyes drifted to POTUS. He looked entirely stricken.

She had only been the one to ever speak so frankly to him.

Even Cyrus had boundaries.

Suddenly, Olivia lightly placed her godson into Abby's arms who gave her a pointed look. Shaking her head furiously, Abby stalked off. Olivia knew that she would receive a tongue lashing later. Abby had always strongly disapproved of Olivia's inability to tell POTUS 'no.' She had not discouraged taking advantage of POTUS' power but she disliked the masochism of their relationship. After she had confessed what it really was, Abby had freely stated her opinion that it was wrong. It had little to do about the moral aspect of is marriage but more of Olivia's sanity and the potential that he could get them killed. At least, Abby reasoned that he could kill them by just putting in a call and insisting that they were terrorists. Olivia joked, who said that they weren't terrorists?

Grasping the bottle that was balanced on her breasts, Olivia held it haphazardly in her hand. Olivia was unsure what to do. It was not as if she had pockets. She found that throwing it across the room would be rude. She could see Abby bouncing Bradley near the diaper bag. Truthfully, she didn't want to speak with her best friend right now. Surprised, POTUS took the bottle, pushed the nipple inward securing any leakage and shoved it into the pocket of his coat.

"You look…" He began and she shook her head.

"Don't speak."

The song began. An all too familiar song. Fuck fate. Fuck irony. God had a twisted sense of humor.

Fuck state dinners.

Their fingers locked. Perfect frame. His hand rested on her back.

Olivia had forgotten how large his hands were. The hand that clasped hers was rough. He had long fingers that practically touched her wrist and she could feel the callouses on the pads of his fingers. The hands' of a worker. His opposite hand covered a large expanse of her back. They fanned out over the fabric, pressing into her spine and hovered above her bottom. His thumb caressed a button on her dress. Her breath hitched, she held it and took a step. Elegantly, they moved forward. Their feet in harmonious sync as they moved across the dance room. The cruel swish of her bridal gown against the polished ground and his perfectly pressed tuxedo made the scene worse. This could be their wedding. This could be their first dance. Releasing the soft breath, Olivia trained her eyes over his shoulder. She wouldn't think about the implications or what they may look like. She had dreamed enough to know. She didn't want the sight. It had taken far too longer for those manipulations to leave her mind. At least, Olivia had taken a long time to just push them from the forefront. She couldn't allow them to resurface.

Nodding and smiling politely at the dancing couples, there were many that winked and nodded. She knew those faces. They were all thinking how 'honored' she was.

If they only knew.

He tried again, "You look beautiful."

"Don't look at me," She asserted.

"How come?"

She glared at his bow-tie and refused to answer.

"How come," He questioned.

"Because then everyone will know."

His thumb subtly caressed her hand and she squeezed his harder.

"I can't not look at you."

Suddenly, her nails gripped his shoulder, fingers spurned and dug deep into the fabric of his jacket, she heard his sudden intake of a breath through clenched teeth. His hiss and choked breath made her smirk. Good. She had grasped his college abused shoulder.

Reasoning, Olivia added, "The song will be over in a minute."

"This is ridiculous. Everything is ridiculous," He huffed petulantly.

"Damn it, look at me."

Her eyes snapped up and she glared, fiery and furious, "You told me to 'be happy.'"

His eyes swept over her. Clearly, he was taking in every detail of her dress. Worse, she could feel him taking it off. The blazing look, narrowed eyes, and creased brow only made her heart beat faster. She had seen that look before. His gaze was ravenous. It was smoldering. She had a harder time catching her breath. She had the worst time looking away. The illumining and intensity in his gaze made her want to do anything but focus over his shoulder. His hands hadn't moved, but she felt closer to him. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest. Maybe, she had before and hadn't noticed. Now, Olivia was noticing everything and damning herself for even caring enough to do so. Swallowing, she realized that she had never seen him in a tuxedo before. He had always sworn that tuxedos were for wedding. He would only where a tuxedo to her wedding - their wedding.

He had worn some function of a tuxedo in the past. Yet, she could see the small dissimilarities that made this one special. He tied his own bow-tie. It was somewhat lopsided. He never tied any bow-tie. He always used some variation of a fancy clip-on or asked an aide. The lack of congruency showed he'd taken the time to do it himself. Unlike other events, his cufflinks didn't have an American flag on them. They were gold and she could see the slight darkening to them - his great-grandfather's. A subtle engraving were carved into them but it was far too subtle to read far away. She knew that he had never worn them before. She had seen them in a black velvet case. He had told her that there were only four planned occasions to wear them - her (his subtly to mean 'their') wedding, Karen's, Jerry's, and his death. One down.

She swallowed anxiously and the implication of his outfit weighed on her. Yes, he was dressed for a wedding. He just wasn't supposed to be the guest. A wedding had seemed like a dream. Occasionally, typically after lots of wine and sex, they would let the dreams overtake them. He wasn't the candidate and she wasn't his communications director. He would hold her and discuss the possibility of a wedding. They would run through a guest list, honorary attendees, and venues. She never expected to marry. As she had never wanted to marry anyone but him. The notion had fantastical and eventually, she accepted the reality - it could never happen. Now, she managed to love the one that she was with. The thin gold band symbolized the life that she had chosen. As if he could hear her thoughts, his thumb brushed over ring and Olivia nearly wrenched her hand away. The ring pressed into her skin subtly and she swore - it burned. It felt wrong to be in Fitz's arms and be another man's wife. She was cheating, but on whom?

He swallowed thickly, "Meet me in the garden – ten minutes. I can't spend anymore time away from you."

Olivia trained her eyes over his shoulder and watched Cyrus throw back his drink. It was surely not his first, "No." She growled as his hand pressed more insistently on her back to draw her near, "Stop it. We're in public." She paused, "At my wedding. Look away."

His rich baritone felt like music to her ears. The waltz had droned out and Olivia had the hardest time not to fall into his touch.

His eyes.

His voice.

His smell.

He was intoxicating.

"I know that I don't have any right."

She cut him off, "This all sounds so vaguely familiar."

The corner of his lips twitched in - was it amusement or pain?

"I love you," He spoke suddenly.

"You told me to 'be happy,'" Olivia growled, squeezing his hand tighter and she was sure that both their knuckles were white from exertion.

"I know. I don't have the right."

"You don't." Her tongue wet her lips.

His eyes lingered and she dangerously felt the proximity between them narrowing. The intensity of his slate eyes bore into her. She felt her body growing warmer by the moment. She couldn't stop from staring up at him. He still towered over her. She swore that he had grown. Now, he was going to kiss her. He was going to kiss her _at her wedding_ and _in the middle of the dance floor_and _in front of all her guests._ She wanted to look away. She wanted to push his hands from her and promise that he'd never see her again. They were just hurting the people that they 'loved.' It was unfair. Still, she cruelly wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to finally be acknowledged. She was more to a mistress. She wasn't just some ass on the campaign trail or a good fuck like Amanda Tanner, even if it was just a blow job. The need for recognition was a dangerous game. Finally, reality shoved in full force. This would destroy more lives than grant her a moment of happiness. It wasn't worth it. It couldn't be.

Nevertheless, she fumed, "Stop. Look away."

He did.

Her heart beat faster. She wanted to plead, _look at me again_. Olivia never expected him to listen. Her words were futile as her mind worked overtime. Her heart always had another excuse, answer, or some tactic to outwit them all. Her heart always knew the truth. She felt suffocated. She couldn't escape it. _What was she doing_, Olivia asked herself. She should have never agreed to this. This was stupid. Her eyes met Cyrus' and he shook his head: _stupid, stupid, stupid. _

"I love you," Fritz besought her and the words thrust into her like a hot knife. Over and over again. She had heard them before. She shouldn't be hearing them now. He was toying with her on her wedding day. It should be the happiest day of her life.

Now, it was.

Olivia wouldn't the ponder it.

She shoved it furthest from her mind.

This was a horrendously bad idea.

"Your wife is ten feet away," She hissed angrily.

"Dancing with your husband," He supplied helpfully and Olivia's head jerked over to witness the disaster that was her life.

Fritz's fingers traveled up her spine. She involuntarily shuddered. As quiver drew through her body, it shook not only her body but her soul. She took a step away from him.

"Ten minutes," Olivia breathed her answer.

* * *

Hey everyone!

I want to thank you for your overwhelming support. The _**Scandal**_ community is such a diverse and loving group. People really don't know what they're missing by not watching. Thank you for reviewing. Your constructive criticism is always welcome.

Also, I know that there may be some debate that Olivia isn't 'character compliant,' because she married David. I want to mention that I wrote this fiction post 2x02. Therefore, I will attempt to incorporate many things into this fiction to keep it 'canon' but that may be impossible at times. My argument for that debate is this - "if you can't love the one you want, love the one you're with." Personally, I believe that season two is expressing more concern for "minor characters" and this philosophy. Yet, we know how inseperable these power players are. I wouldn't write them any other way. (;

Lastly, they are unfortunately **not mine.** Shonda Rhimes and her team of writers' sits on Mt. Olympus and is in charge. I make no monetary profit. My only profits are your reviews which I thank you for again.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I look forward to reading your stories as well. All the best. XXX


	4. Chapter 4

It had begun to snow.

Stepping outside, the cream shawl draped and pulled tightly around her shoulders, Olivia took a deep breath and sucked in the bitter cold air. They had rented the large Virginia manor for the reception. It was known for its beautiful spring gardens and currently, she was wondering why they hadn't waited. She could hear Abby's 'voice of reason' chiming in on her urgency to marry and sudden regret. Nevertheless, it was well below freezing. Incapable of helping herself, her fingers swiftly moved across the fallen snow that began to pile on the stone railing. It was soft and light. The cold hardly bothered her. Her fingers caressed gentle pathways as she made her way carefully down the block steps. They were not yet icy. Raising the skirt of her dress, Olivia timidly took step after step. Her heels crunched on the hidden twigs and leaves; she carefully made sure that her dress wasn't soiled from the snow. Enjoying the silence, she continued to make her path through the garden and admired its beauty.

The trees were frozen.

Long icicles had formed and drooped down like tears from their branches. She brushed her fingers along them. As they touched one another, a soft melody played between them and Olivia smiled. They were too resilient to fall but wouldn't be overlooked. Frosted in snow, Olivia closed her eyes and swore to remember this picturesque scene forever. The ground was covered and large snowflakes had begun to fall. It was a real winter wonderland. Childishly, she stuck her tongue out and caught a few. Her eyes fell shut, hugging the shawl closer, and smiling as they touched her nose. She felt free. The worries of what was inside did not apply to her. In this moment, no one had asked her to be Olivia Pope, Gladiator. She could just… be.

Suddenly, a weighted touch pressed against her shawl, Olivia could hear the roughness of his fingers against the delicate material. The hand stroked the shawl but gingerly lifted it to cover her neck. For a moment, Olivia allowed herself to indulge in the intimacy of the moment. As she felt his breath fan out against her ear, the short rise and falls of his breath puff against her neck, her eyes cracked open. Immediately, Olivia stood straighter. She was hyper aware of his nearness. If she had known him less, touched him less, never felt him press his body against hers, Olivia could reason that it had been David. She could talk herself into it. Yet, there was something specific about his fluid and confident touches that distinguished them.

The nape of her neck peaked out from the shawl. Clouded in her thoughts, Olivia hadn't realized his back was pressed firmly against hers. As she did, her body became rigid. She pressed her shoulders back, which only caused her bum to curve into his crotch and press easier into him. Olivia swore that she heard him groan. His breath was warmer. She heard his lips part and a shiver ran down her spine. He was going to kiss her neck. The idea shot another bolt of electricity down her neck. She took a grand step forward and tugged the shawl around her body. She made a good show of covering her neck. Olivia couldn't let this happen. She hadn't any plans to step out here and tempt him. Or for him to…

Tempt her.

"Ms. Pope," He spoke cordially.

She scoffed and whirled around to look at him.

In the winter of 2015, on the day of her wedding, and knowing she shouldn't, Olivia Pope fell in love with the President of the United States all over again. He outshone winter's majestic glow.

She swallowed thickly, "Mr. President."

"Livie," He took a step toward her and she another back.

Fritz laughed deeply, "Are we dancing again?"

"Mr. President," She scolded and raised her hand to stop him, "Please."

Shifting her eyes to his, Olivia stubbornly met his gaze. It was a match. Who would dare to look away first? Olivia found that she couldn't. She never wanted to. Her body seemed paralyzed every time that their eyes locked. Nevertheless, Olivia willed herself not to get caught up in this. It was just a silly game and it would end in her heartbreak. It always did. Not to mention, this was entirely ridiculous. What had she expected would come from this? If her mother knew, Olivia knew the advice would be simple, "grow up."

Problematically, Olivia enjoyed not "growing up" in a romantic sense. She always had this predisposition to write off romance and fairy tales. Cyrus had referred to her as a "political nun." She clenched her jaw and the burning disapproval of Cyrus' gaze entered her mind again. This had been such an idiotic idea. Her mother and Cyrus were both right, she did need to "grow up." As much as she wanted to believe that Fitz could be a fairy-tale, a fairy-tale would allude to a happy ending. There was none of those in sight. The happiest ending that she could receive was on her own making. And she was attempting to do so. She just needed to let go of the dream first. This was her wedding. It was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. Theoretically, she should be inside (where it was warm) and in the arms of her husband. She should not be in the garden (where it was cold) and half-heartedly fighting off attempts from her ex-boyfriend.

It was unforgivable.

It had been unforgivable years ago when he was married and running for president. Now, he was president and still married. The only different variable was that she married too. Hadn't they learned their lesson yet? Apparently not. She was waiting to startle herself awake. Every moment that she spent in this delirium waiting for the fairytale to happen, she found it harder to break free. It had been a dream that she – perhaps, both – were so insistently sure would happen. One day. Eventually. Soon. Along the way, they had both forgotten that they were just human. And time waited for no mortal.

Olivia steadily took a step away.

This was dangerous.

She had never minded getting her hands dirty. If it were for the greater good, Olivia would do anything even if it meant sacrificing her own happiness. She had sacrificed her happiness for years. Abby joked - she should have 299 million 'thank you' cards. Olivia never wanted a 'thank you' card because the greatest 'thank you' was unattainable. Despite her selflessness, she had been applauded on her intelligence. In this moment, Olivia couldn't fathom to understand why. Granted, she had scored perfectly on her college entry exam and passed the BAR on the first attempt. While most considered her smart, there were many others who played her on the level of 'brilliant.' It was a flattering effort but Olivia could never accept it. She couldn't understand it. She may be intelligent but she was also so ornately stupid. When Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III smiled at her, she made the swooning middle school girls seem genius. Sometimes, she swore that was an insult to their intelligence.

There was a cruelty in how much power he held over her. Thankfully, Olivia knew that this power was not one-sided. He would seek her out. Unfortunately, despite her best attempts, she could not deny him. She had never weighed their relationship. There was a rare moment when Olivia had abused their relationship for anything. Although, she knew that it could be seen from an entirely different scope from him. He had professed his remorse repeatedly for his indiscretion with Amanda Tanner and other messes that she had to clean up. Thankfully, they never pertained to other women.

Some moments, Olivia wished that she would use her leverage. When they were still seeing one another, she would lie in bed and wonder, would he leave Mellie? She knew it was preposterous to suggest. He was President of the United States. It was a request to ruin his career. When the opportunity presented, Olivia sent him back to his wife. She refuted her dreams, hopes, wishes, and deepest desires because she never wanted to become Mellie. She never wanted him to resent her. She knew - he wasn't destined to be a great president. He was destined to become a legend. Still, the selfish and romantic within her had always wondered, could they have been normal? Would he truly had never resented her and lived a perfectly normal life – together? None of it mattered anymore. He was still the president and she belonged to someone else.

As he spoke her name, Olivia was drawn from her thoughts. She willed herself to move away but her feet were rooted. His measuring gaze held her still. Olivia attempted to regain headway and reign in any emotion she may feel. She docked them in the figurative harbor. Her breaths left her lips in small spews of smoke. Their eyes met and gaze deepened, she knew that Cyrus was right. Nothing would help. It would never fade. She wanted to put distant between herself and POTUS. Knowing the truth, Olivia couldn't trust herself. She wanted a successful marriage. She wanted to 'be happy,' as he had suggested to her. She couldn't successfully do it with him so near. She couldn't pull away when his gaze had her pinned.

She swallowed thickly and narrowed her eyes inquisitively, "Can I help you?"

"Can you," He smirked and reached for her.

She dodged his touch, "Stop."

Clearing her throat, Olivia glanced at the tree again. The icicles seemed to lengthen. She wondered incongruously, were they crying for her?

Trembling, the cold settled into her bones and Olivia wondered - had they set into her soul as well? She was rarely so brusque with him. Their final meeting had grown steadily more heated and angrier by the moment. Enviably, they were both aware that it couldn't happen again. The intimate details of their argument painted the Office and ears of too many. She had punctuated his harsh criticism of her with a resounding slap. The argument had echoed down the hall and Olivia never wanted to imagine if the employees had lost their jobs or were simply bribed to keep their mouths shut. It had been reckless and stupid. He made her stupid. Since then, bitterness had resided between them.

Olivia was reconsidering his offer to meet in the gardens. At least, she was reconsidering to allow his attendance. She should be enjoying the party. Technically speaking, the garden was a part of the party but it was vacant of guests. Until, he invited her. She knew it would be best to return to the warmth.

A tinge of shame entered her mind; she had fled her guests and new husband. Thankfully, he had not come looking for her. Still, as much as she wanted to feel unabashedly ashamed, she was enjoying the amnesty. Despite his looming presence, the silence of snow offered a calmness to flow around her that she rarely felt.

Small puffs of smoke emitted from her parted red lips and she tugged the shawl tighter around her body. It swelled with heat. He reached forward and grazed his belabored thumb over her knuckles. She shivered and loosened her shawl. The cold gone. Taking a slow deep breath, lips cementing, her gaze fell to his touch and she contemplatively decided not to push him away. His fingers stilled on the ridge of her finger. He fiddled with her ring. Olivia's lips twitched and she knew, he was contemplating tugging it off.

Bad luck.

Her heart was drumming in his chest. She melted.

"Livie," Fitz spoke brokenly.

"Mr. President," Olivia shook her head.

They couldn't do this. _Again_.

However, her eyes were fixed to his touch. It never changed. There was something gentle about the way that he touched her. A caress against her fingers stimulated the most intimate nerve endings. She needn't close her eyes to imagine him throwing around a baseball with Jerry, gardening with Karen, or riding with all of them. His touch reflected his carefree spirit. If they would allow him to walk the dog every morning, he would. Despite her marriage and the weight of the thin band on her finger, Olivia still craved his touch. Forgetting herself, she pressed her hand into his touch. Finally, he was touching her again. His fingers became more insistent and inched her ring higher up her finger. He massaged the joints of her fingers, rubbing the knuckles, and sensually gliding between the breaks in her fingers. Olivia had never imagined a simple gesture to be so intimate, but Fitz could make anything sexy. It had seemed like ages. She wanted more. She was greedily soaking in everything that he would give.

Her body soared at the familiar touch.

It screamed – touch me, touch me, touch me.

Everywhere.

Now.

She pressed her lips together tightly to silence the words.

As he took a step forward and lowered his head, Olivia was doused with reality. His heavy footing lightly padded the snow. Her head ducked and she was engorged in his powerful cologne. She choked on his fragrance. It was so dominant and overwhelming. It was perfect. It matched the man that he had become. The man that everyone insisted 'she made,' but Olivia could never take credit for this. Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III was a spectacular man that didn't need anyone to be great– including her. She shuddered as her body was drawn into the scent again. Olivia had forgotten what he smelled like. It was pathetic. In the last few weeks of their affair, he had taken to wearing this new cologne. She had never been given the name nor seen it. After they parted, she would sink into her sheets and smell him on the pillows. It never seemed to fade. One morning, she came home and David had 'tossed out' the old sheets. He claimed that they had been giving him a headache. For months, Olivia had walked down the aisle of the men's cologne in various department stores. She searched desperately for his cologne. She just wanted one more whiff.

Olivia could hear him every day. He was always giving another speech. His insistence and authoritative voice made her smile, she was happy for him. He was the man that she voted for. He was also the man that the country deserved and needed. Still, the rich laughter and husky voice was never the same. She had a few voicemails to sustain a burning desire during a particular period of masochism but nothing permanent. Nothing that was hers. One evening, her phone wouldn't turn on. Despite Huck's best efforts, he explained that sometimes "things just die." She understood the undertone. She knew he could extract her files but she never asked him to. She allowed fate to intervene and returned to David. He proposed that night. He cemented to spend the rest of their days together.

Forever.

Forever wasn't eternity.

"Mr. President, I…" She stammered, "We can't.."

"I am so fucking tired of that 'Mr. President' bullshit," He retorted angrily.

Dropping her hands, Olivia huffed and his touch fell away. She clenched her eyes shut momentarily. The steel in his voice was familiar. Olivia regained her focus. She was married. This was silly. These stolen moments – in the garden, in the Oval Office, in her office, in a hotel, in her room (technically, her and David's room now), none of it mattered anymore. And none of it was rational. It had never been rational or practical. They couldn't continue living in this fantasy world.

A world of rose tinted glasses and painted windows that skewed their view of reality.

Glaring, she added unkindly, "You are the president."

"I know," He replied bitterly, "Whose fault is that?"

"Yours. You paid me too well," He laughed genuinely.

"Say it," He asked and his voice was almost childish, "Please."

"What can I do for you, Governor," She smirked.

He laughed loudly and Olivia felt her lips twitch upward in a genuine smile. His laugh was infectious. You could not resist smiling or laughing too. Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III could charm a nun to leave a nunnery.

"Wiseass," He retorted and brushed a dark strand of hair from her face.

She didn't stop him or push his finger away.

Instead, Olivia grinned, "Perhaps."

His tone sobered and he caressed her face, "Liv, I miss you."

She turned her head away. His thumb skimmed and traced the apple of her cheek.

"I am married," Olivia laughed at the irony of her words, "_You're_ married."

Hurriedly, she added, "We can't do this."

"Why," He asked quizzically.

She was shocked. Was he kidding?

Blinking, Olivia added angrily growled, "Because I am married."

"Is that what you're calling this farce?"

She slapped him.

It happened so quickly, Olivia had forgotten the position that she was placing herself in. Her hand collided with his cheek. Unthinkingly. They were in public and anyone could have seen. In the short millisecond, Olivia had been so furious. He was not in any position to judge her. He was a married man and President of the United States. He had been correct in his position of saying he had no right. He didn't have any whatsoever. She was feverish that he clearly believed otherwise. He didn't have any right to question her judgment. Plus, he had never met David before night. Fitz's opinion of marriage and the sanctity of it held little standing. The last time that he kissed Mellie was during his campaign or other political function. His morals were worthless. Technically, so were hers. He was not the innocent party. He had not forced or blackmailed her into having sex. Still, Olivia couldn't believe that he had the gall to attempt to give her a lesson on marriage and conscience. He had lied to her. He had cheated on his girlfriend with his mistress.

Why had she ever been such a fool?

Biting back the apology, Olivia was not surprised to see the surprise spread across his face. Mellie may be cold-hearted but she would never strike him. Clearly, Olivia couldn't say the same. She could never intentionally hurt him but that had been her final straw. The lack of remorse might have been worse. The hurt spread into his eyes faster than the surprise. Olivia wanted to reach out and touch his reddening cheek. She wouldn't allow herself to do it. She had been cleaning up his messes and healing his wounds for too long. Turning her back, she had every intention of returning to the party.

Fitz was too fast. His legs were too long. In two strides, he was in front of her. She was blinking stupidly as he crowded her. His large and strong hands gripped her biceps to still her. She should have slapped him now. Olivia had never been a violent person but she swore that Fitz could bring out every side of her. Struggling, Olivia knew it was futile. He was much stronger than her. Her body was traitorous anyway. His touch made her practically melt into him. The stress poured from her body. The days, months, and year without his touch dissipated and she almost leaned forward. It hadn't mattered that he had been the cause of much of her stress. She noticed the more prominent grays dispersed throughout his hair and concentrated at his temple.

So, she was not alone.

"Let me go," Olivia reasoned.

"You slapped me."

"You insulted me."

She hissed, "Fitz."

And raged, "Let. Me. Go."

In a crash of lips and teeth, his mouth collided with hers. Olivia was sure that she was thrust backwards. All at once, she pushed against him. His touch was overwhelming and startling. She had never expected him to touch her again – not like this. Their lips met in a collision. He kissed her so soundly that she couldn't breathe and she was warm from lack of oxygen. She gasped against his lips but refused to push him away. How could she? His kiss made her feel alive. She had gone through life happily but this was bliss. A kiss like this founded movies and books.

His hands caressed the shawl and tugged her closer. He needn't even try. Her feet moved ahead without complaint. She pressed her body into his chest. The unsteady movements and belabored breaths caught her off guard, but Olivia realized that she wasn't breathing. She was just kissing him – hungrily, desperately, and uncaring if this was her last act. At least, she would die blissfully. When his hands fell away from her arms, she whimpered from his loss of his touch. Yet, she seized the moment to freely touch him. Her fingers immediately unbuttoned his coat. Her flat palms drew across his toned abdomen and Olivia audibly moaned against his lips. He kissed her again and his tongue dueled with hers briefly.

Olivia couldn't justify a losing party when he kissed her. It was a pathetic aptitude of her own life but she understood some of the greatest playwright's now. It was never about power. While she felt powerful when he called her 'beautiful' and complimented her accomplishments. The true rawness and intoxication came from the strength that their relationship had offered her. In the same breath, Olivia knew that it had and could destroy her. The time away from him was destructive. It was terrifying how much she needed him. She was grateful that he needed her too. She understood Petrarch, Shakespeare, Marlowe, and all the others when they insisted that you couldn't breathe from love's constrictive grip. She hadn't been able to breathe properly for nearly a year. The prospect of never knowing it again nearly struck her down completely. She couldn't resist it once more.

His hand clutched at the small of her back. He pressed a hand insistently against her dress. Two fingers pressed against her bum and the more suggestive touch made her body quiver. She wanted him. The cold never touched her. His opposite hand threaded into her hair. She muttered her disapproval but it was silenced by his kiss. As he started removing the pins from her hair, she bit his lip and he only returned the kiss more ferociously. The stylist had spent hours curling and elegantly pinning each piece. It was gorgeous, but she knew he would hate it. He had always complimented her hair when it was down. As he kissed her strong jaw, he paused at her pulse point. His teeth sunk into her neck and she allowed him to linger.

Then, she felt the sweep of hair at her shoulders. It was a curtain to hide their indiscretion. As his lips fell away from her throbbing pulse, their gazes finally met. The harder she tried to hate him, to stay away, to find some reason why this wasn't good for her, she proved herself wrong. Already, she was feeling her best. She could take on the world. Fitz was the only man that could make her feel so confident and sexy by just a kiss. Despite being a naturally confident person, Olivia could entertain that she was "pretty." When Fitz gazed at her, she knew that she was beautiful. His hands relaxed from their respective places and cupped her arms. He brought her nearer and shielded her from the cold. For a moment, Olivia stopped thinking. She took a deep breath and allowed herself to live the dream.

* * *

Hey everyone.

I apologize for not posting on my scheduled update of Thursday. Unfortunately, I suffered from a head injury on Monday and everything seems to be functioning a bit slower these days. I did catch 2x03 and nearly _died. _Was anyone else seriously crushed? And the promo for 2x04? _Hello, _Shonda! Stop. She finally leaves Grey's alone and plays with Scandal. What's up with that?

I don't think it needs to be said, but clearly, this story is entirely AU. Thanks Abby for going and sleeping with David. (; It's AU and heartbreaking. So, I am apologizing in advance. Also, I have two promises to make: 1) David will get his "day in court" (pun intended), and 2) you will hate me, but I promise to redeem myself. Stick with me!

Again, I really appreciate all your reviews. When I see "new review" in my inbox, I immediately squeal and stop what I'm doing. It's become a bit of a hazard. I'm sure my class thinks that I'm nuts. (; All of you are fantastic. If you don't like something about the story, you're welcome to comment about that too. Please, be specific though. I can't improve if I don't know what's wrong, right?

Thank you so much! Love and all the best, S 3


	5. Chapter 5

His fingers stroked the lace of her sleeves and playfully twiddled the tassels of the shawl between his fingers. Neither had spoken. Olivia preferred the silent falling of snowflakes and the wind's whisper to broken promises. If they didn't speak, she could enjoy it a moment longer. Olivia knew that everything had changed now. She wasn't any better than he. To a degree, she had cheated on her spouse. Her stomach rolled, Olivia never had any intention of hurting David. David was a good man. She swallowed and nestled her face into the jacket of the man she loved. He wasn't as warm as usual. Still, his cologne was heavenly. She wanted a second longer to absorb it.

She shivered as a snowflake fell onto her hand. Her eyes caught sight of the thin ring, which symbolized her marriage. She had never worn a diamond. Despite his many insistences this was all that he was ever able to convince her of. Abby had a book full of reasons. She had unwisely suggested that Abby publish them. Abby had written her a short but detailed manuscript of Olivia's "love life." It concerned her at how well Abby's memory was. As she caught sight of it again, Olivia realized that she couldn't lie to David. This wasn't fair to him. She would never have a life with Fitz. She desperately wanted it. She wanted more moments like this. She wanted the dream.

Suddenly, his rough fingers relaxed on her arms.

"Liv-" He choked, "ie."

Olivia was perplexed; she had not expected him to move away first. Her petite body was shoved an inch or two away from him. Her brow knitted, what was he doing? His fingers shook and she attempted to meet his gaze. Unfortunately, he couldn't seem to look at her. Olivia's eyes were trained to him. He attempted to grasp her biceps and his fingers slipped from her shawl. He couldn't hold onto anything steadily. Olivia shook her head, what was this bizarre behavior? As his mouth fell open, he released a hoarse cough. She grabbed his wrists.

"Fitz," Olivia asked frantically, "What are you doing?"

Launching forward and closing the space between them, her hands tightened in his shirt. It was drenched. The cotton felt like icy water. The Artic had settled on his chest. Her fingers sunk into the material, gripped the wet fabric, and Olivia wouldn't release him. She hadn't touched it before. She had noticed that he wasn't his usual radiating heat wave, but Olivia had thought it was their conditions. What was happening? Why was he so sweaty? Had he been nervous to see her? Surely, the kiss hadn't done this. She could feel his body tremble. Her eyes looked over his face questionably. He never met her gaze. She knew that she was speaking but Olivia couldn't discern her questions. He wouldn't give her an answer. Olivia reached down and grabbed the waist of his pants. His breaths seemed to grow labored. Suddenly, the rapid rise and fall of his chest grew slower. His breaths became hisses. She was yelling. She was yelling and he wasn't yelling back. This wasn't how their arguments went. Why wasn't he yelling back?

Olivia was shaking him and holding upright to the best of her ability. She clenched his shirt and attempted to steady him. The inability for him to hold any control over his body was troubling. Her incompetent height nearly broke her as he slumped forward. His lids had fallen shut and lips were pulled into a tight grimace. A cold gurgle foamed at his lips and her fingers gripped his shirt tighter. She was sure that she heard a button groan at the strain of her hold. His head lolled forward and his lips moved. The words were unintelligible. Finally, he collapsed. His body wilted so easily against her body, she had the reminiscing of a leaf being blown over. His skin was cool to her touch. His forehead rested on her shoulder and she could feel the shawl growing damp. Her knees began to buckle from his weight. She attempted her best to keep him upright.

And suddenly, they were falling.

And like a beautiful snowflake, her shawl flew from her shoulders and onto the bed of snow.

"Fitz," Olivia panted panicking, "Fitz…"

Their knees hit the snow.

"Fitz," She screamed.

She released his shirt and cupped his face. Her palms were hot and his alabaster face reacted none to her hot hands against his cheeks. Her hands trembled as she attempted to still him. She called his name again and his eyes briefly fluttered open. She painfully watched as his eyes remained in a half lidded state. Then, they drooped and his face broke out into a deeper sweat. The bullets of sweat dripped from his forehead and rimming his tuxedo collar. Logically, she knew that something couldn't be right. It couldn't just be the kiss. Nevertheless, she begged him for an explanation. Her screams must had startled him awake. For a moment, he met her gaze and penetrated it with his steely eyes. Her thumb caressed his cheek. She refused to say 'goodbye.' The eyes that she always admired seemed to grow dimmer with passing seconds. Olivia beckoned him to speak, move, do anything to keep him alert. She wouldn't allow herself to get lost in them now. She couldn't allow herself to believe it was the last time. As his eyes opened once more, she watched lone tears stroke his cheeks. She hastily wiped them away. She reassured him and lips found his brow repeatedly. Her mews for his health flooded his ears. She stroked his hair and attempted to calm him. When she buckled beneath his weight, his hand struck out and buried it in the snow. He was determined to bear his own weight. His muscles became more slacker by the second. He tried to take the most amount of weight onto himself.

Selfless.

She grasped his hand and locked their fingers.

"No," Olivia reckoned.

"No, Fitz," She fought and wrapped his arm around her, "I am okay, I am okay."

She screamed for help, God, and whoever else would come to their rescue.

Pushing the skirt of her dress out, Olivia attempted to shelter him from the snow. Timidly, she lowered him onto her dress. Her bare knees were buried in the snow but she hardly felt it. Her mind was too focused on the man in her arms. Fitz attempted to argue but she clenched his arm to silence him. Hours earlier, he had refused to button the dress and now he was arguing about ruining it. She knew that wasn't the only reason. He may be wavering in consciousness but Olivia reckoned he understood that she'd be bare in the snow. It was important. It was only important to save him. Brushing the hair from his face, Olivia couldn't doubt that he was still the most handsome man she'd ever seen. And she told him so. His lips curved into what she believed were a smug smile. Olivia lowered her head and kissed his brow again. Her lips were immediately damp. It was ironic, but she felt like a princess kneeling before her prince. Her fingers ghosted over his face and she attempted to transfer it to memory.

"Fitz," Olivia cried and he offered his hand.

She quickly took it.

Bringing it to her face, her lips pressed into his pulse.

It weakened with each harsh sob that Olivia attempted to swallow.

For the first time, Olivia whispered the words that he had been waiting years to hear, "I love you."

* * *

Hello, everyone.

Oh, what shiny pitchforks you have. Oh, hi. Okay, I am sorry. I really am sorry, _but_ I warned you. I told you that you would hate me. I promise, you won't hate me forever. You will grow to love me again. If you want to love me _now_, you can read _La Vie En Rose_, which is far more cheerful than _Hummingbird._ I'm sorry, everyone. I know, they were just getting cute too. I must thank each and every review on _Hummingbird _and _00:00. _You are all so inspirational. You make me sit down and write these chapters. I write them for each review, each email alerting me with a review, and I read every single one of them. In fact, I read them every day. You, Gladiators' really brighten a lady's day. Please, don't abandon _Hummingbird._ I know that you're hating me right now, but I promise that you'll love me in (*counts* three?) chapters. I always promised if a chapter is under 1500 words, I'll post the next chapter on Sunday. This chapter has 1276 words, but I may be losing power on Sunday due to Hurricane Sandy. If you guys _want_ the next chapter, storm the gates. (; And I'll post it.

Love you all and thank you again, S

P.S. 2x04 - Who else said, did they really just wait until the END to lay this on us? I was waiting all show for the "I'm letting you go" scene. Cruel.


	6. Chapter 6

He was still in surgery.

Eight hours later, no one would speak to her about him. She knew that people were constantly filtering in and out of her room. The nurses awoke her every hour to check her monitors. She could see the lights of the ward streaming into her private room. She had insisted to be told what was happening. No one had uttered a word. Olivia suspected that they all believed she was too 'fragile.' She had left a small light on near her bed. The nurses had turned it off every two hours. She turned it back on. They had not understood – resistance was futile. She was not going to sleep until she heard what had happened. She couldn't sleep.

There was a large pizza box on a table. When she saw it, Olivia had turned into the pillow and sobbed for an hour. Everyone knew that it was her favorite pizza parlor. No one suspected that it was her favorite pizza, because it was the only place open past midnight. It was the only place that he could physically stop by near home and still bring a hot meal. The food was not particularly amazing, but it was her favorite because he never failed to bring something: pasta, pizza, or a terrible attempt at American cuisine. For one night, they were allowed to feel like a family.

Eventually, they had heard her screams. Olivia imagined that they grew louder after his convulsion. When they finally came, she had berated them. They were so stricken by her harsh tongue that it took them a minute to notice POTUS. His face was drained of color. The typical beautiful tan had faded, his lips were blue and despite her dress sheltering him, his skin was cool to the touch. She couldn't stop touching him. She was practically cuddled to his chest and attempted to warm him. It took mere moments for a helicopter to arrive and they loaded him into it. Olivia had pleaded to be taken with him. He needed her. She needed him. An ambulance had arrived to tend to her.

As her cries grew hysterical, the murmuring of the guests grew. They exchanged glances and sheltered whispers behind their hands. Their eyes flitted between horrification and stunned silence.

Tom had sheltered her from the gawkers. He understood.

The paramedics had given her a tranquilizer. David had not volunteered to ride with her. She was not surprised. Stephen did and Abby arrived at the hospital soon after. The rest of the team remained at home with Bradley.

As she crawled under the covers, unable to speak or think beyond their last conversation, Olivia stared at the ceiling blankly. It was her fault. She should have never agreed to tour the garden with him. No one had explained the situation. Olivia knew that she must have caused it. She was muttering the symptoms repeatedly to herself. It had seemed so sudden. The nurses always came in and asked - did she need anything? Stephen had explained that they should stop asking. The withering looks that Olivia shot them spoke volumes. She couldn't readily say what she needed. How did you tell everyone and anyone, you need the President of the United States? A married man. She was a married woman, but Olivia expected that wouldn't last long. Her fingers clenched the blanket and hugged it tighter. She wished that she could be there with him. She wanted him to know, he was not alone. He never had to be alone again. She could not leave him.

The droned voices of Abby and Stephen occasionally broke the musings of her mind. They attempted to engage her in choosing Bradley's preschool. She knew that they had scourged the D.C. area. They had already chosen and were attempting to occupy her mind. Olivia appreciated it but preferred not to be bothered. Her thoughts were too restless. Her heart was too heavy. Her eyes kept filling as they drifted to the pizza. Eventually, Stephen left and Abby sat silently next to her head. Sometimes, Abby received the hint better than she should. She clutched Olivia's hand as she quietly cried into the pillow. Occasionally, she would reach up and stroke her dark hair. The companionable silence was awkwardly comforting and exactly what Olivia needed.

Stephen returned with a small suitcase. She hugged her knees to her chest. The cotton gown itched and as he tugged her clothes out, Olivia had never been more grateful. A simple black pair of yoga pants and a Harvard sweater was all she needed.

Fitz's sweater.

Dignity be damned, Olivia had stripped before her friends and changed faster than lightening. She hardly flinched as she tugged the clothes on and settled back onto the bed. Her arms hugging her body and she took in his scent. She had practically buried his sweater in her closet. Olivia would never ask Stephen how many other personal items of POTUS had he found. She preferred not to think of it.

As the door swung open again, Olivia turned her back. She was growing weary of the nurses. Biting her lip, Abby reflexively cleared her throat and Olivia annoyingly peered over her shoulder. Her jaw practically fell open. She disbelievingly stared at Mellie Grant. She stood impeccably dressed in the gown that she wore to Olivia's wedding. A fresh set of tears glistened in her eyes. Olivia recognized her rosy cheeks as hers were hardly any different. She prepared herself for the verbal assault. Mellie never had the chance to see Fitz. She had been rushed to the limousine in fear of her safety. Olivia knew that they were different women. While Mellie had allowed herself to be rushed away, it was an act that Olivia would never allow. Even now, she sat awake waiting for news of his recovery.

"Is he—" Olivia clenched her eyes shut and shook her head.

Her hand smacked over her mouth. The sob tore from her loudly and she couldn't stop. Abby clenched her hand tightly and she squeezed back. The pain would not stop and her heart hammered in her chest. The alarm of the machine blared and Olivia ripped the cord off her chest. She was so fucking tired of the insufferable thing. She refused to believe it. Despite the tranquilizer, Olivia felt herself verging on hysteria. Her body trembled and Olivia chewed her lip in a desperate attempt to stop the angry sobs. Olivia wouldn't give the other woman the satisfaction. Her entire body shuddered with spasm after spasm. She could not breathe.

He was dead.

Clutching her eyes shut, Olivia willed the tears to stop. Even if God willed her to, they never would. It hurt. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. It hurt to move. It hurt to believe that an existence without him was possible. It simply wasn't.

A world without him seemed dismal and bleak. She had lived a year without him kissing her every day or touching her. Then, he had reappeared in her life. He had entered her life without question or permission. If she was a particular masochist, Olivia would say this was her punishment for not agreeing to her 'happily ever after' years ago. She had him in her life and Olivia had shoved him from it. She would never read another letter in his hand. A world without Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III meant that forever truly was eternity. This was all she had.

It meant that she had to be content – forever.

When Fitz gave a particularly rousing speech, she couldn't fall in love with him all over again. The man that she voted for, millions had voted for, could not change the world. He was a great man and Olivia knew, as Cyrus had foretold, he could had changed everything. When she walked by billboards it wouldn't be his smile promoting causes that he rarely believed in. Although, he needed them for reelection. For all intents and purposes, he had been an honorable man and she had pushed him away. He was a great man but also a good man. A man that the paparazzi caught in small swim trunks, running around on Camp David, and playing with water guns.

Suddenly, Olivia was engulfed in a pair of strong but womanly arms. The arms hugged her torso and Olivia froze. She felt tears against her temple and Olivia refused to relax into the foreign touch. Sucking in a breath, the hands grabbed hers and clutched tightly. As they both attempted to take steadying breaths, nothing helped. Olivia was stiff and the woman at her side took little comfort in hugging her husband's ex-mistress. Yet, right now, she would never meet anyone else that felt the same way.

"He is," Olivia reasoned through broken breaths.

"I don't know," Mellie replied quietly.

Clutching each other, the two frightened women took solace that they weren't alone.

While it felt like days later, it was merely three hours that Cyrus burst into the room looking ragged and worn. He had not taken his tuxedo off. Although, the black bowtie was open and hung loosely around his neck and the first few buttons of his shirt had popped open. Never returning home, he had worked every moment since they discovered Fitz. Cyrus was attempting his best to quell the raging media and keep them at bay. It had been nearly impossible with the wedding attendants. He had been working closely with Huck and their own private team of surveillance. Unfortunately, it was almost impossible to control the personal media – Facebook, Twitter, and Myspace. The wedding attendants had almost immediately taken to every blog, instant update, and become a personal gossip columnist over night. That's where their lives became a deadlock.

There were some attendants that were genuinely concerned for the president's well being. There were others that had questioned about Olivia's state. The majority had become media consultants and wanted 'the scoop' on Olivia's outburst concerning the president. The news was heard around the world and every major news corporation was calling the White House communications department for a comment. Cyrus had insisted that they shouldn't release any. The 'fixer' that he had trained to cover up their messes had practically begun it. A question on everyone's mind was – why had she been so desperate to accompany the president?

It was a shit storm.

The top three buttons were undone revealing a golden cross swinging around his neck. A thick black rosary swung in his left hand and he clutched the door with his right. Cyrus' needed all the help that God would offer. If this held up, Cyrus would not work on Sunday ever again. He would be dragging their lazy asses to church every morning. The next week would be complete Hell. He wasn't even sure how to approach the topic with Olivia or Mellie. Worse, he couldn't even find Mellie. He didn't need Mellie going rogue and announcing prophetic updates to the press corp.

The sight that caught him was undeniably disturbing.

Nestled in hospital room 211 lay Olivia and the First Lady cuddled in one bed, fingers interlocked, and breathing in sync. Was this the Twilight Zone or was this all a practical joke? He paused and snorted humorlessly, in times of crisis, they were all the same.

Taking a seat, he ran a hand through what little hair he had left. A few more strands had already fallen out in the elevator. He was so tired. Although, he was sure that exhausted a better term. His eyes burned from the pressure of keeping them open. His head spun and throbbed from drinking far too much good scotch. It would be the evening of a wedding that something like this had to happen. An evening that all of them needed to relax and POTUS had to pull some shit that caused him heart palpitations. Now, Cyrus was working against the natural cure of inducing his sleep. Scotch always put him to sleep. Sound sleep. Cyrus felt like a petulant child that had skipped his nap. He wanted this nightmare to end. And this was a nightmare. No one could have predicted this. It had come out of left field. He hated baseball games and their unpredictability was the main reason. Cyrus liked controlling the outcome. It was hard to do when you were betting on someone hitting straight.

Loudly, Cyrus awoke both women, "We have news."

He pressed a hand to his misting eyes.

* * *

Hey everyone.

I sincerely apologize for not updating on Sunday. Things became really hectic around here and real life became very crazy. Again, I must thank all of you for your reviews to every chapter to every story: _Hummingbird, 00:00, _and _La Vie En Rose._ You've been nothing but amazing to me. I love you all. You're amazing. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 3 I hope that you enjoy this chapter. I am excited to read your feedback. They always make my day. xoxo


	7. Chapter 7

The conference room was sparsely decorated. Graciously, the hospital had laid out a long bar of fruit and pastries. The lack of colors on the walls washed everything and everyone out. While the doctors and nurses implored everyone to eat, none of them touched the bar. There were glasses sporadically placed on the table. Unfortunately, they were not filled with various types of alcohol, which would have been appreciated by all. Sitting nervously at the table, Olivia fidgeted and stared at her glass. She tried to make it turn to wine with her darkened stare. She would appreciate anything more than water right now. They had offered her orange juice but Olivia suspected that would hardly agree with her.

Swallowing, Olivia brought the glass to her lips again and wetted her palette. Her stomach flipped as it touched her parched tongue.

Cyrus had not been able to clarify the news. The doctors' had simply insisted that everyone meet them in this conference room to discuss Fitz's condition. Nurses asked Olivia repeatedly, did she want another sedative? Thankfully, they had offered Mellie the same thing. She hadn't seemed so broken and silly then. She hadn't felt as if they were all waiting to admit her into the psych ward. Olivia had graciously declined. She wanted to remember every detail of this moment. If she was going to feel her heart break, Olivia never wanted to forget it. She needed to feel the pain. She could not feel bits in a stupor and relive it again upon awakening.

As the doctors filed into the room, none of them met their gazes. Mellie had taken the seat across from her. Olviia was grateful for the distance. Despite the closing gap earlier, Olivia found the resentment creeping in again. She knew, despite the circumstances, Mellie would see him first. Dead or alive, Olivia didn't have a chance. Mellie was his wife and the First Lady. Technically, she didn't have any rights to be here. She was a married woman. She was married to someone else. The only people who truly knew about her affair with Fitz sat in this room. Cyrus, Mellie, and Tom didn't need to say a word. Her wedding guests merely had suspicions. Although, she suspected that a denial would be difficult. Plus, where would that get her? She would be labeled the mistress and shoved back into her hospital room. It wouldn't accomplish anything.

Silencing her thoughts, her eyes were trained on the doctors as they discussed the procedure. It had started as a heart condition. They suggested that from the medication in the blood stream, he had been aware of this condition. Everyone, except Tom, sucked in a breath and waited with bated breath. Olivia whirled around and stared accusingly at Cyrus. He glared at her. Neither one of them had known. Olivia bowed her head. She pressed her fingers to her temples and held it in her hands. He was sick. He had been sick and never told her. The irresponsible and selfish bastard. She wanted to pulverize him. Olivia was going to kill him.

Her head snapped up as they explained that the procedure went "well" and their prognosis was "optimal."

A silence descended over the room and suddenly, the room grasped for a piece of fruit or pastry from the center bar. An awkward and quiet laugh shook the room, and no one spoke for a few moments. This small team of doctors had just saved the President of the United States' life. Ultimately, they had saved Fitz's life. Her Fitz. Cyrus grasped her hand and squeezed, Olivia shook her head curtly. He was alive. She released a few shuddering breaths. She could not meet Mellie's gaze. Truthfully, Olivia never wanted to. She regretted every agreeing to the conspiracy that she and Mellie had founded years ago. She could be in the position of power. It could be her that could visit Fitz first. Now, she was at the mercy of a woman who was potentially her sworn enemy.

The doctors stood and explained that they could visit him one at a time. An older doctor, clearly, he was in charge, stopped and turned to their group. His hair was snow white and eyes piercing blue. He reminded Olivia of Paul Newman with his easy smile and handsome features.

He cleared his throat and spoke politely, "He was asking for an Olivia…"

Despite the earlier rustling and low talking, everyone grew still.

Slowly, Olivia stood up from the table on shaky legs.

"I…" She cleared her throat and spoke firmer, "I am Olivia. Olivia Pope."

She was the first to see him.

The details were befuddled. Olivia still couldn't believe that Mellie had relinquished her role as matriarch and allowed Olivia to enter first. Cyrus had escorted her out of the room. Somehow, Olivia doubted that Mellie had allowed her to enter first without a fight. The senior doctor, Cyrus and Mellie had lingered behind in the conference room. There was not shouting but she could hear the conspiring whispers. She overheard the words 'best for him' and Olivia assumed the senior doctor had insisted. For once, she was grateful that she didn't have to fight on her own behalf. Olivia wasn't sure that she could explain to Mellie the magnitude of this. She didn't believe that Mellie could possible understand. After all, how could she? She didn't love Fitz beyond his political career and how much longer did she expect that to continue?

The doctors and nurses attempted to help Olivia into a wheelchair. She nearly snapped at them but the kind older doctor had linked their arms. Slowly, they walked to the floor that was reserved for Fitz and guarded by a team of Secret Service. Tom recognized her immediately. He had been placed outside Fitz's door. He had nodded politely to her and kissed her hand. She smiled wanly and muttered, "Thank you." He refused to accept it and explained it was unnecessary.

An older nurse arrived, she had auburn hair and brown eyes, and she was pushing a cart heavy with medical supplies. The sudden widening of her eyes let Olivia knew that she was recognized. Olivia searched her face to understand how the woman knew her. She and David had announced their wedding in 'The Washington Post,' but it was hardly much of a fuss. After all, no one knew that the President and First Lady attended until they crashed it. It struck Olivia all at once. The guests had surely leaked her admissions when she attempted to guard Fitz's body and insistence to be taken with him. The people that she considered her _friends_ had leaked her most intimate and vulnerable moments.

Fortunately, the woman never spoke. Although, Olivia noticed that her breaths seemed to quicken. She was careful to clean her ring finger and Olivia peered down, her ring was missing. The disappointment or loneliness that she should feel for missing her ring never presented itself. She merely glanced away. The older nurse continued to expertly scrub her hands. Olivia trained her eyes over Tom's head. She swallowed anxiously and observed the thick frosted windows. The blinds were raised and she narrowed her eyes to see the various machines pressed against the windows. She released a solemn breath, no; it wouldn't be good if the president's vitals fluctuated. Her breaths became unsteady at the realization. Fitz was inside.

_Her Fitz._

Escaping into her thoughts, Olivia was surprised as her hands were suddenly roughly dried with a thick towel. She blinked stupidly and watched as the woman grasped her hand. Her hands trembled and the woman gently covered hers. Clenching her eyes shut, Olivia bowed her head and released a shaky breath. She hadn't the faintest clue what to expect. She had not expected this. She had not expected the nurse to be kind. Worse, Olivia did not know what waited for her on the outside. She could only imagine what the press had. She was silently grateful that Abby and Stephen hadn't uttered a word. She wanted the truth, but Olivia knew that she would jump to fix everything. She wanted to spare David. She wanted to spare Fitz the pain upon returning to office.

_He would live._

The nurse drew the yellow coat over her body and she readily accepted. Olivia offered her a smile, but it was more of a grimace. She swallowed again and glanced down at her garb. She had seen these outfits on medical television shows. Olivia had never believed they would be so thick. She took a deep breath and extended her hands. Easily, the woman snuggled a glove onto her hand and snapped at her wrist. She encouragingly tugged it a bit higher and watched as the glove molded to her hand. Olivia closed her eyes as the yellow gown enclosed her in warmth. The woman inspected her and snapped the buttons on her gown closed. She dug into the final box on the supply cart. Pulling off a crisp blue mask, the nurse timidly pressed it to her face and secured it behind her ears. The nurse nodded eagerly and Olivia smiled weakly behind the mask. She was grateful to the older woman but weary. She couldn't know whom to trust any longer. Would this woman immediately return to the nurse's station and tweet all about helping the 'mistress' into the president's private room? Olivia couldn't be sure. She hated distrusting everyone. She hated not _knowing_. She hated that her gut had been so insanely wrong about all her guests.

_All her friends._

Nevertheless, Olivia graciously walked toward the doors and watched curiously as the nurse opened them with a red button. She stepped through and they were noisily closed behind her. Despite the silence, Olivia knew that she was trapped between these doors and the next. There was a sudden mist and she felt it settle on her exposed skin. She was sure that it was some sort of cleanser. It was suddenly expelled with a loud gust. The wind sliced through the hair, blowing her curled locks from her face, out of the chignon, and away from her head. She blinked as the smell evaporated from the air and back into the vents. She pressed her hand against the blue mask and made sure it was in place again. Glancing over her shoulder, the nurse nodded expectantly and Olivia moved forward as the doors opened.

For a moment, she was frozen.

The doors closed behind her and Olivia took a deep shuddering breath. She was sealed in the room with Fitz. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to look at him. She had spent hours agonizing over what he would look like. Olivia couldn't break the idea of him in his arms. He had nearly died in arms. He had grown so still. She hadn't been able to understand his babbling. Olivia choked on the chirping noises that filled the rooms. She glared at the opposite wall and willed herself to turn. She willed herself to turn, look at him, touch his hand, and do _anything_ that required movement. She was a coward. She didn't want to see him and think of death.

"Come…" He coughed lightly and groaned, "Come here."

He paused and hoarsely added, "Sweet baby."

And like a hummingbird, she flitted across the room and into his arms.

* * *

Hello my dear readers and reviewers,

I must express my heartfelt thanks for every review and read. You've been nothing but absolutely kind, welcoming, and so amazing. I assure you that I read every review and often read them repeatedly. They make me so happy. I can't possibly express how much all of you mean to me. Thank you so very much.

As always, none of the characters belong to me. I wish that they did.

I know everyone couldn't believe Cyrus carried a rosary or Mellie and Olivia cuddled (me neither - hehe). My mere suggestion is that I'll always add my personal comic relief within the story. Also, I would suggest to always expect the unexpected, but don't always take it all at face value. All isn't what it seems. (; I could ever make Mellie nice. Hah. Impossible.

Again, thank you all so very much.

I can't wait to hear what you think.

All the best, S


	8. Chapter 8

"He's better, Liv."

"I didn't ask."

"He's back in the Office."

"Good."

The tremulous beating of her heart made her shift uncomfortably in her high backed chair. She crossed and tucked her foot under her bottom. The cold attempted to seep through the high windows. Her eyes anxiously fixed at them and she adjusted the freshly pressed slacks. She nervously picked at an invisible piece of lint. Her eyes flickered between the window and her cherry wooden floors. They needed a new polish. Swallowing, she glanced outside again. It was snowing. The phenomena had lots its touch since Fitz's "accident."

She released an unsteady breath, "Good."

A silence descended between she and Cyrus. She could hear his nervous breaths. She knew that this was merely a courtesy call and probably wouldn't receive anymore. His breaths were short but hastened. In contrast, Olivia attempted to keep her breaths nearly silent. She dared not betray her true feelings. While she had been waiting to hear the good news, she already knew. This call was hardly personal. They had released it at a press conference this morning. She had quickly shut off the details before it could delve into further details. She had heard them all before. This was a "courtesy" call in the truest sense. She swallowed and tucked a dark strand of hair behind her ear. She paused and awaited his request. She didn't doubt that there might also be an underlying reason for his call. Maybe, he was finally drowning under all his sins and needed someone to "fix" his mistakes. She nearly snorted aloud. Olivia hadn't any allusions to Cyrus Beane. Nor did she have any plans of helping him again. While they may have mended their friendship, Olivia understood the concept of "fool me once." She wasn't known for being fooled "twice."

Unfortunately, Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III had always been the exception.

She was sure this time would be different.

Suddenly, she cleared her throat and broke the tension, "Thanks for calling, Cyrus. Great to hear from you."

She heard his pause and shifting.

She knew his question before it came.

"I don't know, Cyrus. He won't speak to me."

Her crisp tone alluded to her unwillingness to speak of the subject. Olivia rarely spoke to David. Better said, David rarely spoke to her. Unsurprisingly, she had returned to their (her) apartment to find his belongings gone. He had managed to take every important artifact and "knick-knack." She couldn't miss the "knick-knacks," they had bothered her from the beginning. She liked her crisp lines and furniture; his occasional bachelor pad items drew away from the simplicity of her apartment. When he showed up with college lava lamp, she had drawn the line. That had no place in the apartment.

Olivia was recovering well. The only damage had been to her knees and the only instructions the doctors gave her were simple – steer clear of heels for six weeks. She had nodded dumbly and wore heels the following morning. He had to be kidding, no high-heels? She wasn't even sure if she didn't own _anything_ without a heel. She wasn't about to find out. Pots had kept her company. The evenings that she was cold, he always managed to curl at her side and press his large warm length against her body. He would be the perfect man if he wasn't so furry or a different species. She may be able to get over the furry bit. Truthfully, Olivia wasn't sure how to feel about David. The more time they spent apart, she realized that her emotions grew more into remorse than they were longing. She didn't miss his companionship truly, she hated that she subjected him to scrutiny. She could not return home and find that his presence was particularly missed. Olivia realized more and more each day, she owed him an explanation. She was technically his wife. They hadn't consummated their marriage and they could both file for an annulment. She figured that she owed David that privilege. She had disrupted their marriage.

While she attempted to visit his former apartment, they had been in the process of selling it pre-nuptials; he refused to answer the door. She had the key in hand but agreed it wasn't her place. He would speak to her when ready. Somehow, Olivia found it in her to accept that. They had both been stripped of their privacy from the outside world. It was her fault. She had subjected him to this. The least she could do was allow him peace from her. Although, she had a nagging feeling that he visited the office when she wasn't around. There were moments when she showed up, DA notes on the table, and everyone always very silent. Her associates never directly mentioned him with cases, but she knew they had to be consulting with him. There was clearly still bitterness and conflict of interest, but she knew that David was forgoing this just as before. They weren't associating. Abby had pressed her about it originally, but she quickly realized Olivia was unwavering. She had made a colossal mistake. Unfortunately, Abby was less forgiving. While she didn't particularly love David, she favored Fitz far less and hated the give/take of their relationship. More so, she hated that Olivia often received the raw deal.

This latest episode only seemed to further prove her point.

"Have you tried speaking to him?"

"Is their anything else you wanted," Olivia asked tersely.

She refused to have this conversation but especially with Cyrus.

"Liv," He implored, "What's the hold up? He's good for you."

"I am hanging up now."

Hurriedly, he added, "Olivia, wait," He cleared his throat awkwardly, "They are going to release the _tape_ again."

_The rustle of clothes was distinct. The topping lamp fell with a distinct crash but neither paused to think of it. His hands drew across the landscape of her body. His kiss was fiery and lips dragged across hers. It wasn't clean and precise. It was hungry and desperate. A first kiss and maybe, a last kiss. Neither could be sure but both knew that they needed this. They couldn't stop. Their hands seized and tugged at clothes. It wouldn't be enough to just pull, shove them out of the way, do this quickly and retire to separate rooms. They wanted time. They wanted something that neither was afforded. _

'_Take off your clothes.' _

_His rich baritone was music. A plea for more and she granted his every request. The airy moans and deep sighs grew more impatient. The clothes dropped with a distinct 'flop'. Her nails scratched down his skin. When he struck into her core, she audibly moaned, 'Fitz.' It was her salvation and curse. She could never stop repeating his name. It only spurned their coupling on. As she spoke his name, he chanted hers. It was clear through the need and fervent pace, their names held a far deeper meaning. They weren't just whispering one another's names, it was an expression of everyday where they couldn't say it. Every minute that she was subjected to call her by his title. _

_They toppled over the edge and she screamed his name and his hers. _

_As he lay atop of her, blissfully and supremely happy, she pressed her lips to his hair and murmured, "Mr. President." _

_Their laughter sullied by the sudden clip signaling the end of the tape. _

"Olivia," Cyrus pressed, "Olivia, are you there?"

She swallowed, "Does he know?"

The gruff voice interrupted her call and Fitz frankly replied, "He knows."

Olivia hadn't even heard the door open.

Silently, she damned Stephen for fixing the squeaking hinges.

* * *

**Hello, my loves. **

**Again, I cannot thank you enough for your unwavering support. Your reviews mean the world to me. I always love to see the familiar faces reviewing on each and every chapter. That's so sweet! Thanks for taking a part of your day and reviewing. If you just write one word - it makes me so very excited. If it wasn't clear, this chapter takes awhile after his accident. I enjoy time leaps to move the story along. If you're confused, post a question and I'll PM you or answer in the next chapter. **

**Review Questions: **

**1. Is Fitz dead? **

Not yet.

**2. Fitz' hospital room? **

My thought process behind this was they're taking extra precautions. If the president caught an infection, I imagine that the doctors who didn't do everything in their power would be in some serious hot water. It's more of a CYA thing vs. necessary medical procedure. I apologize for the inaccuracy, but feel to correct me if I get anything else wrong. Totally open to this. (:

**3. Where the fuck is David? (; **

You're missing him- really? Fitz isn't feeling the love, gladiators. Nevertheless, he will make his grand (reentrance) in chapters' nine and ten. He will become a major player in shaping this story.

**4. Abby and Stephen? **

I really dislike what's happening with Abby on the show and I'm sad that Stephen left. So, clearly, you know that they're totally AU. My Abby will still be evil, but not crazy bitch evil. I'm sorry if anyone is disappointed but I can't conform to that. Sorry, Shonda.

**All my love. xoxo**


	9. CH9 PROMO

_**Chapter 9: Promo/Sneak-Peak **_

* * *

"You've done enough. Trust me." She stood up and paced the length of her office. She refused to look at him. Immediately, she looked toward the windows and could see the hoard of paparazzi across the seat. She sighed heavily, when would it end? "How did you even get in here? Someone must have seen you."

"We had dinner two blocks up at Ming's, the Chinese place that you like—"

"I hate that place," She corrected him.

"You loved it when I brought it," He insisted.

She glanced over her shoulder and cocked a brow, "You underestimate how good of a politician I am." Her lips quirked in a facetious smile and she turned back to the windows. She was thankful for the near frosted appearance. Could they see her? For good measure, she pulled the curtains shut and flicked on the lights.

"I'm laughing on the inside."

"Don't laugh too hard, you may break your heart again," Olivia sniped.

"No, I have you for that," He goaded her.

* * *

**Dear reviewers, **

**You have all been so kind to me. I felt like you deserved some sort of reward. I hope that you'll consider this my gift to you. **

**What did you think? (; **


	10. Chapter 9

Whipping around, she snapped her phone shut and glared, "Who let you in?"

Fitz smirked, "The Secret Service are pretty intimidating."

"Abby must not be here," Her glare didn't waver.

"Why are you here," She asked tersely and dropped her phone on the desk, "I can handle the tape. I'm a big girl."

"Let me do something," He insisted.

"You've done enough. Trust me." She stood up and paced the length of her office. She refused to look at him. Immediately, she looked toward the windows and could see the hoard of paparazzi across the seat. She sighed heavily, when would it end? "How did you even get in here? Someone must have seen you."

"We came had dinner two blocks up at Ming's, the Chinese place that you like—"

"I hate that place," She corrected him.

"You loved it when I brought it," He insisted.

She glanced over her shoulder and cocked a brow, "You underestimate how good of a politician I am." Her lips quirked in a facetious smile and she turned back to the windows. She was thankful for the near frosted appearance. Could they see her? For good measure, she pulled the curtains shut and flicked on the lights.

"I'm laughing on the inside."

"Don't laugh too hard, you may break your heart again," Olivia sniped.

"No, I have you for that," He goaded her.

Spinning around, her eyes quickly focused over his shoulder. She was so tired of his shit, because it couldn't be described as anything else anymore. She glared and jaw clenched angrily. The team was huddled at the table and she knew that they weren't vigorously working on a case. Pressing her fingers to her temples, she rested against her desk. She couldn't keep doing this with desk. She was going to develop a heart problem from the constant heart palpitations. There were times when Olivia relished how he made her feel. Recently, he made her _hurt_. She was so tired of hurting whenever they were in a room together. She was so tired of fighting with him. She didn't want to argue with him every breathing moment. She missed him. Olivia struggled to sleep, because she wanted to be in his arms. She was tired of missing him. She was tired struggling to imagine happier times. The last memory was hardly kind or particularly warm. He had taken a kiss from her while he lay in his hospital bed. His cracked lips had brushed and consumed her. Despite his breathless nature afterwards, they had laughed that she had 'stolen his breath.' The next morning, she had been barred from his room.

"Get out," She snapped.

"Now," She insisted, "Get out."

"No," Fitz took a step toward her, "Let me help."

She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, "Are you going to violate the first amendment? Short of suppressing freedom of the press, how do you plan on helping?"

He opened his mouth and closed it again.

"Exactly."

"I am not going to deny it," Fitz contended.

She scoffed, "No. It would be hard to deny your mistress _twice_."

Threateningly, he bound forward and growled, "Do _not_ call yourself my mistress. You know better than that."

She was wild. Was he kidding? She grasped the edge of the table and took slow steady breaths. She wanted to hit him. She was so tired of this happening _every time_. If he hadn't shown up and ruined her wedding, she would be content with David. She may had never realized what 'could be.' Her life would not be submitted to the current scrutiny. Reporters wouldn't follow her every step and compromise her cases. Her business had significantly declined. Olivia Pope could hardly be discreet when paparazzi and news' cameras hounded her. Everyone wanted an exclusive. Everyone wanted the 'real' story. She could sell her story and never need to worry financially for the rest of her life. While her associates never said, she knew that they had all been approached. She heard the shredder going far more than usual. They hadn't brought it up with her, but they hadn't discussed it with anyone else either. She was eternally grateful.

"No," Olivia shook her head, "I don't." She pushed away from the desk and sat on the arm on the couch farther from him. Anxiously, she ran a hand through her hair. "You told me to 'be happy.' I had a real chance at that. He was good to me. He would have been good to me."

"You don't love him," Fitz bluntly interrupted her.

"I could have," She challenged.

"A man who loves you fights for you. I hear you're not even speaking."

She snapped.

"Are you tapping my phones now? Are you talking to my dog? Do you have special powers or just Thorngate? What is it, Fitz," She angrily asked, "Does the idea of my happiness make you so crazy?"

She ground her teeth, "They _sedated_ me."

Echoing again, she had never been so embarrassed and screamed, "They _sedated_ me."

"Olivia," He whispered brokenly.

Clenching her eyes shut, she shook her head, "No, Mr. President, you aren't going to show up, smile, cuddle on the couch for one fucking minute and make everything better."

She sighed, "A wedding guest, one of my _friends_, filmed it. I can watch the whole thing over, over, and over again. I pleaded with them. I clung to you. Hal had to _pull me away_,"

"I know," He shouted.

She jumped and blinked in surprise.

Olivia never expected him to watch it.

"I know," He added brokenly.

She stared at the floor.

"Let the White House release the tape. So, we can control it. Let me release a statement.

She laughed, "Your office has released enough statements on my behalf."

He growled, "I had nothing to do with that."

Rolling her eyes, Olivia simply stated, "'Olivia Rosen is a former colleague. The White House wishes her the best in her new marriage and future endeavors. The White House was unaware of her gentle condition, but hopes her privacy will be respected in this time of healing.' Classic."

"They didn't run that by me. You know, I wouldn't—"

"Really," She snapped angrily, "You barred me from your hospital room." She shrugged contemptuously, "I wouldn't put it past you."

"I –what? I didn't ban you from my hospital room. Don't be stupid."

"Do _not_ call me stupid."

"Olivia," He rationalized, "Why would I keep you from the hospital room?"

"I asked myself the same thing. I made Abby _bake_."

"I knew that they were from you," He quickly clarified, "The next day, I asked for you and the nurse said, you had left. There was just a basket of muffins. When I asked Cyrus and Mellie, everyone had said that you and…"

"You believed them," She asked wildly.

"No," He shouted in return, "I called. I called and sent Hal. Why would I believe any of them? _I_ am not stupid."

"I never…" She shook her head, "nothing."

"I sent flowers every day," Fitz tried again.

"Did you use the White House florist?"

He groaned.

She smirked, sometimes, he didn't think.

"Good job."

"Bite me," He commented offhandedly.

"Gladly," The comment came before she managed to stop it.

He grinned, "I am cleared…"

She glared coldly, "So, that's why you're here."

"No," He rolled his eyes, "Christ, Olivia. It was a joke. Are you that angry with me?"

"When you left the hospital? What are your excuses then?"

"I called you every—" He stopped.

Reaching into his pocket, he shuffled for his cell phone. He could feel the outline and quickly tugged it out. Grasping the phone, he dialed her number without thought. He pressed the speaker button and allowed the call to be broadcasted in throughout the room. Her voicemail cut through the silence. They quickly glanced at her mobile. It had not moved. There hadn't been a whisper or flash. Her cellphone was always set to 'loud' when she was in the office. They watched as her voicemail flooded her office and offered to leave a message. Once again, he did everyday and despite her presence, he left a voicemail.

"I love you, Olivia."

He hung up.

Anxiously, they waited for the chirp to signal a voicemail.

Silence.

Olivia shifted on her feet. She tucked her hands under her breasts. She moved away from the seat and jumped to her feet. She couldn't take it anymore. She crossed the floor and quickly opened her mobile phone. Olivia scanned her text messages – nothing. She pressed for her voicemail and nervously waited. His eyes swept over her desperately. Her heart pounded in her ears and blood thundered as she tried to block out the overwhelming dread. She grasped her phone and listened as her phone insisted there were no messages. She pressed 'speaker' and allowed the phone to repeat the earlier message. They both swallowed audibly and she dialed the familiar number without a second thought. Her fingers frantically moved over the keypad. She openly watched his face. He met her eyes painfully. The phone never flickered to life in his hand. They had been led on to believing the other was gone. They were both torn from one another without anyone's thought for mercy. She watched as his jaw clenched angrily.

Turning away, Olivia sighed heavily and shook her head. Why would they do this? They hadn't any reason to tear them apart any longer. The whole world knew or suspected what had transpired. Olivia understood. It was merely to punish both of them. She ran a hand through her, tucking strands behind her ear, and huffed loudly. Her mother had insisted that monsters didn't exist. She had believed her and then, she met the ruthless inhabitants of Washington D.C. Squaring her shoulders, she turned to him again and met his gaze. She could see the unwavering anger darkening them. The silence between stretched and tension grew. The unspoken knowledge of their discovery weighed heavily. Solemnly, Olivia took a seat on the couch. The discovery made her feel ill. She had underestimated Mellie. She doubted little that Cyrus was innocent. He always managed to have some involvement. She wouldn't question that his intentions were good, in some respect, but mostly for personal gain. He knew that acknowledging the long-term affair would destroy his legendary president. She chewed her lip and shook her head, why would they go to such lengths? They had to know that eventually they would come together again. They always found a way and that was their greatest downfall. They never managed to part for long. Maybe, they had counted on their recent anger to keep them at bay. Until, he finished his presidency.

"I told you Thorngate was being used to spy on citizens."

He glared at her and rested against her desk, "Ha. Ha. Ha."

Her lips curved into a mirthless smile, "What are we going to do?"

"Kill them. God, it's great to be powerful," He moved over to the couch and flopped onto it.

Aghast, she exclaimed, "This is an expensive couch, Fitzgerald Thomas Grant—"

"The third," Fitz added mockingly.

She slugged his injured shoulder, "Do not just flop into it."

"Yes, Mother."

Her eyes narrowed to slits and she edged away from his proximity. He was much too close, "I hadn't realized you had that sort of fetish. Is that new?"

"Are you interested?"

She snorted loudly, "In your dreams."

He groaned loudly and ran a hand over his face, "You have no idea."

She sat silently unsure how to proceed. She wanted to ask, what did he dream of? She dreamt often of him. The dreams were varied. There was a time when she couldn't nap without dreaming of him. Recently, the dreams had tapered off. She suspected it was due to her new bed partner and more so, because her memories of him were drifting. It was harder to remember their passionate moments and easier to remember the heartbreak. It still lingered. When the dreams came, they were mostly fantasies of what she wanted. The dreams were whimsical notions and indulgences that they had laughed about, visualized, hinted, and schemed.

"I still think that Fitzgerald IV would be a great name," He broke into her thoughts.

She ducked her head and smiled softly.

The joke began mostly be accident.

Olivia had entered the campaign bus carrying a CVS bag. A small rectangular pink box was nestled at the bottom and she made no real attempt to hide it. Immediately, the gossip on the bus skyrocketed. The women were overjoyed that their "campaign fixer" might be expecting. Somehow, they managed to keep the word down for weeks. Two months passed and everyone seemed bubbly for no reason. Olivia was simply grateful for their new chirper personalities and if they were nicer to her, she wasn't going to complain. She suspected it was because the votes were turning around in their favor. It certainly wasn't anything to criticize.

They surprised her with a neutral toned cake but the distinct baby shoes, rattle, and diaper stood out on the cake. Olivia, Fitz, and Cyrus were stunned. As she was handed gifts, certificates to expensive baby stores, and cards of warmth, the shower of love overwhelmed Olivia and mildly insulted they believed her to be pregnant. She really needed to head to the gym again. Nevertheless, she explained the situation was just a mix up. Embarrassingly, she explained, she bought the pregnancy test as a practical joke for a friend. The campaigners had the decency to look ashamed for their presumption. That evening the real inquisition had begun. Fitz asked tiredlessly, what practical joke? He liked joked as much as anyone, why couldn't she share? Then, Olivia had confessed the truth. She had skipped a period and feared the worst. The lightness in his eyes and grin on his face sealed the evening. Maybe, she shouldn't had feared anything at all.

They spent the rest of the evening discussing their hypothetical children.

"Inexcusable. No need to stroke your ego even more," She insisted.

Suddenly, she felt an arm around her waist as he tugged her across the couch.

"Fitz, be careful. Your heart," She pleaded and he pulled her tighter into his chest. She lightly pressed a hand to his shoulder and soothingly caressed down to his chest.

"… is better now that you're near," He supplied and his breath tickled her neck.

She smiled and released a soft sigh, "What are we doing? I am married."

He snorted, "So am I."

She shook her head, "No, Fitz. I am _married_. David isn't Mellie. He loves me. He wants me to be his wife. He wants—"

"Because I don't," He broke in.

"Don't what," She inquired.

"Want you to be my wife."

Slowly, she moved out of his arms and hugged herself, "We entertained that fantasy before. Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not being ridiculous," Fitz growled and tugged her close again, "Olivia, I lo—"

She pressed her hands lightly to his chest, "I know."

A hand soothingly rubbed circles over his heart.

"I heard you."

Perplexed, her brow creased and she blinked, "What?"

Cupping her cheek, his thumb drew across her cheekbone, "I _heard_ you, Livie. In the garden. I know you still—"

"Mr. President, I will respectively ask you to take your hands off my wife or I cannot be held responsible for my actions."

* * *

**Hello, hello! **

**As always, thank you so much for reading and reviewing. I cannot thank you all enough. Every time that I read a review, I am so unbelievably overjoyed. I wish that this site had an option so I could reply to all of your reviews, because I would. I really am so eternally grateful. I have always wanted to write a book, but never had the determination to do so. This, you guys, really make me want to write my own novel. So, this (and now, _One Day_) is a test to myself. I have full intentions to see both through. In fact, I don't think that I could give them up. I _dream_ of the next chapters and where they'll go. Nonetheless, _thank you! _**

**_Thank you, thank you, thank you._******

**If you haven't watched tonight's episode (2x07) stop reading here: **

**OTHERWISE! **

... what the hell happened? Was everyone else watching with their mouth open? No, really. What happened? I can justify it. I understand. I've been there. I _know why_ she did it, but again, _what the hell! _Can I just say that Kerry Washington is one of those people who cry beautifully? Why can't she do anything wrong? Why? So unfair.

Also, I recently watched all the episodes in two nights (insomnia) and noticed the pattern. Things really get heated up in episodes five through seven and seven was the season finale. We're on episode seven. Let the games begin! TGoldwyn said, eight was his favorite episode. If they don't _kiss _in episode eight, I will officially get a twitter just to harass TG and let him know - it needs to happen or I'll die. Not even kidding. (Well, I'm being a little dramatic.)

A quick disclaimer, if he gets shot or has a heart attack in 2x08, _I PROMISE_ that I had no prior knowledge to that before writing this story.

... maybe, I did and I _am_ a Shondaland writer like someone suggested. (wink wink) Cue evil laughter.

Love you, Gladiators! Look forward to hearing from you. **Please, review! **

Xxx - S


	11. CH10 PROMO

His face screwed into a picture of scrutiny. Pardon? It wasn't the first time that he had heard that… phrase of sorts. It was usually something along the lines of: 'You're an ass, asshole, bastard, douche.' Mellie surely used a variation or combination enough. Sometimes, she used them more times in one day. Although, he hadn't heard 'jerk' in the past twenty-five, maybe thirty, years but he had no intentions of correcting her. A brow inclined in surprise at her brutally brash manner. It even seemed to have shocked or horrified—Fitz couldn't be sure, her coworkers as well.

"Pardon," He cleared his throat and eyes drifted to the office doors.

"You are a jerk," She snapped again.

"Abby," Stephen replied soothingly and squeezed her thigh.

"Are we just supposed to pussy-foot around because he's the president or because he screws Olivia?"

"Abby," Quinn hissed, "Calm down."

"What Olivia does in her personal life is none of your business," Harrison agreed.

"Olivia is our friend. You respect her wishes," Huck bombarded.

Rolling her eyes, she huffed, "I take it back."

He sighed in relief that her attack had ended.

"You're an ass."

The whole table groaned in unison.

She was worse than the CIA.

* * *

**The promo for Ch.10! **

**What do you think? **

**All of you are the absolute best. I cannot imagine a more loving, dynamic, and outstanding group of reviewers and I would graciously call you all my friends. Thank you all for reading and reviewing. I know that everyone is anxious for a Rosen/Grant standoff. Trust me, it's coming. I wanted to save it because I'm playing around with specific ideas. Nevertheless, I hope this chapter will satisfy everyone when it's released. **

**xoxo 3 S **


	12. Chapter 10

The redhead was definitely intimidating.

The arrival of David Rosen, Olivia's husband – he reluctantly admitted, had booted Fitz from her office and presence. As he reclined in the high backed leather chair, he listened intently to the shouting. His blood pressure rose with each word and he took several deep breaths to keep from jumping to his feet, bursting in, and kicking the district attorney's scrawny ass. He could do it. The heart condition may kill him, but it would be worth defending her honor. He knew that Olivia could handle herself, but she was allowing herself to be berated. He could hardly stand it. His hand flexed into a fist and relaxed again. He heaved another sigh and glared at the wooden table. Maybe, he would develop the power to kill on sight. Technically, he could just signal Hal and Tom to take him out back. He was pretty sure that was unethical and someone, especially the redhead, would report him. Frankly, he wasn't too worried about it. Olivia was worth it.

Heart rate skyrocketed, he huffed again as the shouting grew in volume. This was ridiculous. He should be able to defend her. This was just as much as his doing as hers. No, it was his fault far more, and he had lured her out into the garden. He had crashed her wedding, because Fitz hadn't been able to let her go. He couldn't let her go through with the wedding and not know how he felt. Nothing had changed. Squaring his shoulders, he huffed again and his arm twitched as he clenched his fist. He smacked his hand down at the table and glanced back into her office. The asshole still hadn't let up. Fitz hoped that he choked on his salvia or fainted from the lack of oxygen. He loved her. How could he just sit by and allow this to happen? Earlier, he has insisted that men who love their women –not necessarily their wives, but men in love fight for what they want. He certainly wasn't leading by example. Tiredly, he ran a hand over his face and groaned, this was not supposed to happen today.

Flickering his eyes upwards, Fitz caught the unwavering glare of the redhead. He was willing to take on the scrawny bastard, but the redhead seemed like a plausible threat. Maybe, they could recruit her to recon in the Middle East. Her eyes were narrowed angrily and she cocked her hip against the table. He could tell that she was pissed. Mellie took a similar stance often. Her arms were crossed over her chest and the occasional impatient tap of her foot alluded to her displeasure. As she glanced over to office, he watched the smugness bloom over her face. He wasn't surprised that she liked him. He was probably a likable. Hell, he figured that he would even like him as long as he stayed away from Olivia. Nonetheless, Fitz saw pain pass her features when the screaming grew too loud. Suddenly, he realized this must be her friend. He knew vaguely of her business associates. They always caused mischief and he suspected they caused more harm than good sometimes. He had never been properly introduced to her friends. It dawned on him that he knew the redhead from somewhere. She was misplaced in his memory. He made a mental note to look her up later His curiosity was officially peaked. He supposed that none of them had ever known. From the glares that the redhead gave him, his assumptions were misguided.

The squabbling sounds caught him off guard and the quick movement around the office surprised him. He hadn't realized there were so many people within it. Hal and Tom quickly drew closer and he raised a hand, he was more curious than afraid. The squabbling sounds resembled more of an injured bird than a sniper shooter. He wasn't worried that someone in this office would kill him. Maybe, the redhead, Fitz really had to stop underestimating her. His eyes flickered back to Olivia's office and the yelling had grown distinctly quieter. His brow creased in confusion, were they making up? A small group flooded the table and his jaw opened in shock to see the fussy little boy. That was unexpected. A dark-haired man, who he had seen in many of her photographs, hugged and bounced the sniffling boy. He played with the collar of his shirt and rubbed his face. Dumbly, Fitz wondered, were they taking kids on as clients? That was silly. What was he thinking? Suddenly, he remembered the little boy at her wedding. He swallowed and watched them all seat around them. Olivia had been dancing with him and his… mother, he presumed as his eyes briefly to the other redhead. The ferocious glare that she shot him quickly quelled his attempts at eye and Hal appeared in a corner and he met their gaze steadily. Were the associates of Pope & Associates declaring war on him?

He could safely assume so.

"Ladies," He nodded to the brunette and redhead, "Gentleman," He smiled at the small boy who sucked his thumb but managed to wave.

"You're a jerk," Abby snapped.

His face screwed into a picture of scrutiny. Pardon? It wasn't the first time that he had heard a… phrase of sorts. It was usually something along the lines of: 'You're an ass/asshole/bastard/douche.' He hadn't ever heard 'jerk' in the past twenty-five, maybe thirty, years but he had no intentions of correcting her. A brow inclined in surprise at her brutally brash manner. It even seemed to have shocked or horrified—Fitz couldn't be sure, her coworkers as well.

"Pardon," He cleared his throat and eyes drifted to the office doors.

"You are a jerk," She snapped again.

"Abby," Stephen replied soothingly and squeezed her thigh.

"Are we just supposed to pussy-foot around because he's the president or because he screws Olivia?"

"Abby," Quinn hissed, "Calm down."

"What Olivia does in her personal life is none of your business," Harrison agreed.

"Olivia is our friend. You respect her wishes," Huck bombarded.

Rolling her eyes, she huffed, "I take it back."

He sighed in relief that her attack had ended.

"You're an ass."

The whole table groaned in unison.

She was worse than the CIA.

"Ma'am," Tom interrupted her but seemed detoured by her sharp glare.

"Miss—" Fitz attempted to explain.

"Mrs. Finch," Stephen corrected.

"Mrs. Finch," Fitz tried again, "I apologize if I gave you the wrong impression, but I—"

She scoffed, "You, what? You love her. You can't live without her. She's your _sweet baby_ today and tomorrow, it's the blond." She sneered, "Which will it be today, President Grant? I'm eagerly waiting."

He blinked dumbly, "I hadn't realized that you were so—"

"What, well informed of your bullshit?"

Fitz cleared his throat anxiously. This was not going well.

"If I may, respectfully, sir, what are your intentions with Olivia," A deeper voice and dark mysterious eyes asked and Fitz watched the man curiously, he made him nervous in the worst way.

"Huck, sir."

"Pardon?"

"That's my name."

He nodded, but didn't immediately answer the question.

The man's face became instantly acquainted. He had helped him during the campaign. He smiled and began to speak, "You—"

"Helped you during the campaign, yes. What are your intentions?"

And right back to business.

He swallowed, "Olivia and I have been friends for a long time…"

Abby choked and slammed her hands on the table, "Friends?"

She screeched, "You put her through hell. That woman is proud and she allows herself to be _publicly _humiliated for you without qualm. It was her _wedding_ day and you dared crash it, because you're a selfish bastard. You can't dare see her happy. You rather have her pining after you than a glimmer of happiness."

"Abby, c'mon," Stephen grasped wrist.

"No, she's right," Fitz broke in.

"What," Abby asked – stunned.

"You're right," Fitz nodded. "I agree with every word."

"That's unacceptable," Harrison broke in, "You can't keep stringing her along, man." He cleared his throat, "I mean, Mr. President."

Abby snorted.

"You must be Abby," He smiled charmingly. "She mentioned you earlier."

Clearing his throat, their eyes were suddenly drawn to the door. The small boy had fallen asleep again. His eyes fluttered as the yelling intensified. Her voice was mixed into their conversation. As he heard it escalate, he jumped to his feet. The influctation in her voice was worrying. He wasn't going to allow David Rosen yell at her for hours. This was getting ludicrous. He turned toward the door and realized that they were out of sight. Rosen had every reason to be angry. Fitz knew that he didn't have much right to defend Olivia, but it was a knee jerk reaction. He was all that he had ever cared about next to his kids. He expectantly moved toward the door but Abby headed him off. He narrowed his eyes angrily. He was growing weary of her interference. He admired the depths that she would go for her friend, but she clearly didn't understand what he was willing to do.

"Back off, Abby," Stephen interjected.

"No," Abby barked and her eyes fixed on Fitz, "That's her _husband_, Mr. President and their argument is none of your business. It's not a matter of national security."

He clenched his jaw.

Olivia came into view as she sat on her desk. She looked up and met his gaze. Searchingly, he attempted to convey his concern. She subtly nodded assurance; she was okay and didn't need rescuing. Olivia was always independent. It was almost silly to think that she needed her married ex-boyfriend to sweep in and rescue her from her husband. Fitz turned away and ran a hand through his hair. He paced lightly away from her office doors and ran a hand across his mouth. He was growing wearier by the second. Huffing, he rested against the wall and grumbled, "You're a real pain in the ass, Red."

She smiled, "Thank you."

Pushing away from the wall, Fitz moved across the floor. The idea sparked like a well-lit fuse. He dropped his phone on the table and searched for his work cellphone. Immediately, he pushed them over to Huck. The man didn't owe him anything. He had already helped him once. Swallowing, he wasn't sure how to explain how much he needed this. He needed to know that he wasn't going insane. Someone really had kept him from Olivia on purpose. It hadn't been of their doing or madness. "I—I," He cleared his throat, "You don't owe me anything. I know that you're all loyal to her, but so am I. _I am loyal to her_. I… Olivia is the love of my life and I thought she wouldn't even speak to me. I thought she had left me. I thought we were-" He noticeably choked, "Could you check these? I called her while in the office and her phone never moved. We think that the calls are being redirected by—"

"Thorngate," Huck supplied helpfully.

"Told you it was a bad idea," Abby supplied helpfully.

He glared, "You must be Abby."

Stephen chuckled.

The door suddenly opened and smacked against the wall. The loud clatter rang and David Rosen stomped out of office without another word or backward glance to the associates. His heavy footsteps carried down the hall. As he slammed the door to the steps, it was clear that he was in a foul mood. None of them seemed to expect any less. Olivia's labored breathing could easily be heard in the office. Her foot tapped anxiously against the floor. The table of associates sat silently and expectantly at the table. None of them mustered the ability to speak. Fitz couldn't blame them. An awkward silence descended on the group and everyone shared eager looks, what had happened? The screaming was nearly unintelligible. Everyone knew the brunt of the conversation but they hadn't been able to clearly make out every word. It wasn't a secret that Rosen was hurt, but Olivia hadn't truly grieved his absence.

Stiffly, Abby shifted in her shoes. Fitz watched her, but she didn't make much effort to enter the office. Apparently, she knew when it was best to approach. He couldn't admit to being so wise. Shoving a hand into his pocket, he turned his back to the table and made his way toward the office. He wanted to comfort her in any way that he could. It wasn't his place to judge her right now. The choice that she made, whatever it might be, was hers and he couldn't keep pushing her. He was married with three beautiful children. While he had never loved anyone more than Olivia and his children, Fitz knew that he couldn't chain her to him. She was too independent and it's what had attracted him to her.

He never received the chance to explain. He was immediately disappointed as she barreled from her office door. Her feet carrying her. Her breaths were shallow and jaw tightened in fury. He pressed a hand to the small of her back and she didn't move away. He could feel the rigidness in her spine. He dropped his hand when she rested forward on the table. Fitz could tell from her stance that she meant business. Swallowing, he was grateful that ire wasn't directed at him. At least, he thought it wasn't. Anxiously, he bounced on the balls of his feet.

Olivia's head snapped toward Quinn and snarled, "You're fired."

The young woman blustered, "Wha—why?"

"Olivia," Harrison asked, "What's going on?"

Olivia stood straighter and she tucked a strand behind her ear, "Go ahead, Quinn. Tell them."

"I—I thought it would be. I—I thought it would help," Quinn stammered and tears swam in her eyes, "Maybe, if he would see you with… _him_, he would see that…"

The table grew eerie silent.

Fitz gulped; she had purposely called David Rosen.

So, he could catch them.

"You stupid girl," Abby hissed, "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Fitz rubbed his temples.

Quinn blinked and stared blankly at the table.

"You drafted my impeachment," Fitz groaned.

* * *

**Hey everyone. **

**I am… honored, flattered, and so surprised. Every time, I read another review I cannot believe that they're for me especially some of you. I admire your stories, read them often, and now you're reviewing to mine? Goodness, thank you, thank you, thank you! This is in no way denotes any of your reviews. They are… remarkable. All of them.  
**

**Was this a surprise? I hope so! **

**Anyway, I wanted to explain my thought process behind this. **

**As for grounds of Fitz's impeachment, I am going to use my beloved (and favorite) President Bill Clinton as an example. If we would use episode 2x05, it seems that Olivia favors him as well if you review her "blue dress" argument. Bill Clinton was indicted on "perjury" and "abuse of power." Bill Clinton adamantly denied having an affair, and therefore, he perjured himself. In this fic, the White House released a comment on Fitz's behalf, which subtly denied the affair. As for "abuse of power," I believe that one is pretty clear in the "blue dress" scandal. If we are pertaining to Fitz and Olivia, I am going to argue that he "abused his power" by hiring her on as Communications Director. Conflict of interest. I promise that I'm not ruining any surprises. See, it wasn't _totally_ random. **

**As for the long awaited battle between David and Fitz – you better believe it's coming! **


	13. Chapter 11 - PROMO

He could forthrightly say that he never expected David Rosen to step into his office.

* * *

**Oh, can you guess who David paid a visit to? (; **

**How was your holiday? **

**I apologize for updating late. I've been very busy lately - end of the semester, which means term papers, exams, etc. Nevertheless, I will be updating regularly. Who is excited for this week's Scandal? Also, did you know that twenty-two episodes has been ordered and not the original thirteen. I read it on KW's twitter. SOEXCITED. **

**What did you think of this one sentence promo? **

**Happy hols, loves. Xoxox - S **


	14. Chapter 11

"Mr. President…"

Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III could not stop smiling. Slouching in his high backed chair, he crossed and rested feet on the edge of the presidential desk. How many other presidents had done this? Forty-three? Bush Jr. Forty-two? Clinton. Yes, Clinton definitely put his feet up. He nearly recoiled and fled when he thought all that Clinton committed in the office. Instead, he merely chuckled. Perhaps, he may take a Democrat's lead. Not all their ideas were terrible. Smugly, he ran a hand through his hair and released a sharp breath. For once, he enjoyed life without question.

He couldn't be trivialized with Mellie and her constant nattering about something or another. Last night, she was continuing on about the children. He didn't need her weekly update. Fitz spoke to their children far more than she ever did, he didn't need to speak to his secretary to find out what was new. Karen was tiredly pouring over college applications. Jerry kept teasing her, 'who is going to reject the president's daughter?' He knew that his daughter had more honor than that and he had secured her a false name. She wanted to be granted entry on her merits and not title. He respected her incentive.

While he suspected it was Mellie's doing, he worried about Jerry the most. Recently, he had become withdrawn and took to holing in his bedroom. When Fitz attempted to speak away with him, he always claimed that school was monopolizing his time or his friends needed him. Fitz didn't know what his son needed but Fitz was determined to give it to him. He never wanted his children to suffer and hated the idea of not being able to help them. The subject seemed impossible to discuss with Mellie, she insisted that their son was "fine" and going through a "phase." Fitz refused to believe it.

His youngest, Samuel was blissfully unaware of his siblings' struggles. He was a chipper young lad that enjoyed cataloging insects and visiting museums. Fitz was grateful for living near the Smithosian or the many trips would cost his fortune. His thin frame made clothes, even tailored ones, impossible to fit. He was the black sheep- knobby knees, thin arms, and unattainable hair. The glasses only magnified his piercing eyes and Fitz had overheard Jerry call him, "Harry Potter." If Harry Potter had curly hair, he supposed his son could pass for the skinny-orphaned wizard.

His children's various quirks and stressors notwithstanding, Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III was a very happy man. While had avoided his calls for the past three days, she had accepted his bouquet of flowers every day. He had Hal personally deliver them. Each day, Hal had reported that she smiled upon reading the note and thanked him. The note had been simply signed – "To sleeping in." He knew that it was a practice that they would soon enjoy. He had never spent an evening at her home, which was followed by sleeping in late. He had always snuck out of her home before the press corp. could receive word of it. Finally, they could sleep in and not worry about anyone seeing him. Technically, everyone already knew. He had yet to release a statement and the hounds were just growing more vicious every day. He had hoped the story would die down. Realistically, he knew this story couldn't go away. They had video, audio, and a sick president that had yet to address his hysterical mistress. While the left and central media weren't openly mentioning it, Rush Limbaugh and the right had already dropped the card that he never wished to hear. They 'jokingly' referred to him as Thomas Jefferson. He kept his wife and children at the 'main house' – the White House and his 'nigger' away from the crowd. He had never been so disgusted then when he had overheard Mellie listening to his bottom fodder.

"Mr. President," The voice broke his thoughts again and he roughly shook awake.

"Right," His brow knitted in mock concentration, "Cyrus, how can I help you?"

"It's about Olivia, sir."

Immediately, he sat up straighter. His feet fell off the desk and he tossed the notebook from his lap on the table. He hadn't really been reading or taking notes on it anyway. He had been much too engrossed in his thoughts. The random scribbles made little sense but he didn't doubt that Olivia's name was inscribed somewhere within it. He nodded curtly and awaited the news. From the tone, he worried what it may be. Cyrus never discussed Olivia with him. It always seemed like a silent agreement since their parting that Cyrus had chosen sides. In matters of state, Cyrus had chosen Fitz. In matters of the heart and friendship, Cyrus would always be Olivia's man. At least, Fitz knew where he stood.

"Is she alright?"

"Can I speak candidly, sir?"

"You always do. Why ask my permission now?"

Cyrus grunted—irritated and pressed on, "Olivia is the daughter that I never had—"

"Cy," Fitz interrupted.

"I'm speaking, Mr. President."

Stunned, Fitz nodded.

"Therefore, I am impressing upon you the seriousness and magnitude of your actions. Olivia is not Amanda Tanner, sir. She is a woman of a dying breed, and if you hurt her, sir, as you have explicitly already had, she will wilt. She will wilt until she's nothing left but petals at the bottom of a vase. Do you understand the metaphor, sir?"

Fitz swallowed—he was killing Olivia.

Cyrus nodded, "Good, sir. I know that you'll do the right thing."

He took a step back from the desk, "You have a visitor, Mr. President."

Turning on his step, he moved toward the door and opened it loudly. Fitz sat pensively at his desk. His eyes trained to the dark wooden desk. His fingers drummed and he wasn't sure what to do. He pursed his lips and eyes flickered to the notepad. His words and doodles drew his attention to it again. He hadn't realized how many times Olivia's name was written across it. He had turned into a lovesick fool –a teenager. He swallowed, when had he become this man? He had served two successful terms, mourning for her, and what was lost. Hadn't he deserved some happiness finally? Then again, didn't she? He hoped that he reached the place in his life to give it to her.

A soft cough caught his attention and his eyes darted aloft. He could forthrightly say that he never expected David Rosen to step into his office. Sitting straighter, he cracked his knuckles. He knew it was immature, but if he was going to toss a punch, he wasn't about to break his hand. He wasn't sure where the aggression came from, but the moment that he saw David Rosen, he saw red. He hated the man on the principle that he was Olivia's husband. He had married Olivia long before he was ever given the privilege. The ring she had on her finger wasn't for him. He had stolen her 'first' marriage, 'first' engagement, and the magic of that surprise would forever be gone. While they may have discussed it first, there was always something sentimental about your first wedding.

He would even admit that his marriage to Mellie held a sentimental value to a distinct point. He had been young, stupid, and easily manipulated. It didn't mean that he hadn't enjoyed the ceremony to a point. He was surrounded by people he didn't know, his parents friends, old family members, and politicians to further his career. Yet, there were his friends that made his bachelor party memorable and ruined his first dance by scratching the CD to add in 'I Like Big Butts.' He had never truly loved Mellie, but there used to be a level of respect and admiration.

Standing, he whipped the coat off the chair. Slowly, he began to tug it over thickly muscled arms. He paused and pretended to strain bringing it up his biceps. There was nothing wrong with putting on a little show of intimidation. Clearing his throat, he pulled it over his broad shoulders. His eyes met the other man's challengingly. This was his domain. He could have the bastard sent downstairs and never released. He liked to believe that he wasn't that trivial. However, the more that he looked at him, the less that Fitz thought it was a bad idea. He swallowed and moved to the front of his desk. He rested against it, sliding one hand into his pocket, and nodded to Cyrus. The older man rolled his eyes and muttered something about 'dick measuring.' He exited quickly and slammed the door.

"Stay away from my wife."

"Who are you again," Fitz replied cockily, "I hadn't realized that I had an appointment."

"You're funny."

"I hear that often," Fitz smirked.

"Stay away from my wife," David Rosen reiterated darkly.

"Am I supposed to know your wife?"

"Is it just treasonous to kill you or does punching count too?"

Fitz chuckled, "How about you try and find out?"

David contemplated, "I just might…"

"I assure you, I'm not going to let you throw a punch without throwing one myself."

"You're a coward," David hissed.

He snorted, "Am I now?"

"You show up at my wedding—"

Fitz smirked.

"Uninvited," David ranted.

"My country," Fitz shrugged, "I don't need an invitation."

"Unwanted…"

"I wouldn't say that," Fitz casually interjected.

He could see the vein pulsing in David's neck.

"You steal my wife."

Fitz smiled—this guy was making it too easy.

"She wasn't yours to begin with."

"She wasn't yours either," David shouted and kicked the end table.

The wooden end table flew across the room. The antique lamp poised on top toppled to the ground with a loud crash. Pieces of the lamp scattered across the floor and Fitz regarded it inquisitively, he never liked that lamp. Mellie wouldn't be as forgiving.

"That was a lamp from the Roosevelt administration," He added lightly.

Briefly, David glanced morosely at the lamp, "Are you going to have me killed for breaking your lamp?"

"I never liked it."

David nodded.

Suddenly, he sighed and firmly repeated, "Stay from Olivia."

Fitz merely shook his head.

That was an impossible request.

"You are a coward," David grumbled.

David huffed, "You are a selfish coward. You care about no one but yourself. You humiliated her. You are still doing so. You may not own a television set or maybe, you do and just don't turn it on. It doesn't matter." He shook his head, "Clearly, you're much too self absorbed in your own 'emotions' to realize. The media is eating her alive while you're sitting in your gilded cage. I'm sure it's warm and cushy behind your secret service and iron gates, but we regular folk can't afford those luxuries."

Fitz glared, "Olivia is—"

"She's, what?" David met his hardened gaze, "She's fine? She's okay? She'll get through this?" He chuckled mirthlessly, "Of course, she will. She always gets through it. It doesn't mean that she should need to. Be a man and realize when you've lost."

The hand in Fitz's pocket clenched into a fist and he decided he could deck him _once_ before the secret service intervened. One time would be satisfactory.

"She let you go. Do the same. She picked me," David concluded.

Incapable of helping himself, Fitz barked out a laugh, "Tell me Rosen—does she call out my name or does she have the decency to bite her tongue?"

In an instant, his jaw was blooming with pain. He could feel it spreading from the corner and into his ears. He hissed painfully attempting to regain his bearings, but the strike had set him off kilter. The smaller man raised his hand back to punch back again and Fitz easily defended the swing. He was ready for it this time. He clenched his hand and was about to teach David Rosen the meaning of the word 'man' when he saw her.


	15. Chapter 12

Millicent Emily Grant was a patient woman. One could even suggest that she was even obedient, but those who knew her well knew otherwise. Mellie was never as patient as she portrayed she was merely cunning. She had been taught how to veil her disdain behind grins and silent sips of her beverage. Her eyes laced with threats and curled fingers itching to wrap around the perpetrator's throat. Mellie Grant knew how to play the field. She knew that her husband was in love with Olivia Pope the moment he called to discuss her. The inflections in his voice, desperate need to discuss her ideas, and general concern for her well-being were not unnoticed by Mellie. Then again, there was rarely anything that slipped by her. For years, she had taken her husband's harassment concerning Olivia Pope. The lustful whispers of her name at night, his fingers wrapping around his turgid length, and groaning her name in orgasm when he believed her asleep. As usual, Mellie had adjusted. She steadied her breaths, squeezed her eyes shut, willed the tears away, and pretended to sleep. Her husband was the President of the United States as long as he was happy than she was too. At least, she had resolved to tell herself this.

When Olivia had finally left their lives and Fitz had recovered from his pathetic depression, Mellie found hope. They had another child and Fitz was engrossed with Teddy. Still, his interest in her stayed minimal even on special occasions such as their anniversary, birthdays, and holidays. The passion, even if consisted merely of common interests, had died out. Their marriage bed was cold and dead. Despite it all, Mellie viewed it as a reprieve. The lack of Olivia Pope in her life lessened the threat to her position. While she was tired of wiping at snot-nosed brats, reading to illiterate 'urban' children, and pretending that she cared about the homeless; it was her _job_. It was _hers_. She never planned to allow anyone to take it away from her, especially Olivia Pope. All good things had to end. The announcement of Olivia's wedding in the Washington Post was simplistic and hardly noticeable. In a final attempt to solidify the idea that Olivia wasn't returning, Mellie showed Fitz the announcement. That was her mistake. A new passion had renewed within him and she knew what it meant.

Olivia Pope was entering their lives again.

The sun had risen earlier and Mellie had joined it. When light streamed through the thick periwinkle curtains, she pushed them open, despite Fitz's still sleeping form, and dressed. After a quick workout and light lunch, she returned to the Residence. As she was undressing, Cyrus arrived. His panic forewent him to knock. He pushed open the Residence door, slamming it against the wall, and stomped into her private quarters. His heavy feet scuttled against the polished floors. As he doubled over in the chair, chest and full belly heaving, she petulantly clutched the dress to her lithe frame. She was used to interruptions but it never meant that she enjoyed them.

"What is it, Cyrus," She asked irritated.

"Ma'am," He wheezed, "The president," He choked and coughed loudly, "You need to come."

His recent brush with death had frightened Mellie. She would lose her position as First Lady. She was not going to allow Fitz to pull another bullshit attempt to leave office like that. She had grown weary of his pathetic antics to find a way out, but not taking his heart medication or divulging his illness was a new low. Raising her chin, she nodded curtly. She rushed into the walk-in closet and found the first suitable ensemble. Frenzied, she tugged the pressed slacks over her hips. The button down blouse slid over her head and arms without unbuttoning. She quickly glanced at herself in the mirror. The ensemble might even rival that of Olivia Pope. Her lips quirked smugly and she snatched the blaze off the hanger. Wheezing, Cyrus steadily moved from the chair and helped her into it. He offered her a pair of shoes, the man had impeccable taste, and they both rushed toward the Oval Office.

"What's he done this time," Mellie asked.

Shaking his head, Cyrus rubbed his temples, "Fighting David Rosen."

Mellie paused, her jaw clenched, and she immediately picked up her pace muttering darkly.

Despite the presence and guard of the Secret Service, they quickly moved out of the way upon seeing her. Her hard taps against the floor and squared shoulders were a clear sign not to cross her. She was on a warpath. In a whip of anger, she snatched the door open and it banged against the opposite wall. Standing in the doorway, she made eye contact with Fitz as he raised his fist. Her lips curled into a snarl and eyes narrowed angrily. He would not dare.

He did.

Gasping loudly, her hands covered her mouth in shock. Had he lost his mind entirely? She clenched her eyes shut and bit back her swear. When her eyes opened again, she choked. She kicked the door shut with her foot but not before Cyrus could enter the room. They exchanged a look of horror. She was frozen in the spot. The selfish bastard was doing it again. Her hands clenched by her side and she sniffed angrily. The hot angry tears sprung to her eyes. She was not going to lose her position because he could not control himself. She had worked hard to obtain this position. She had given him three children. It was all because he could not control his damn erections. Sucking in a breath, Mellie turned her back and stared out the window. The loud shouts of horror and panic filled the room. She stared coldly at the lawn. It was poetic justice that the sun would stand erect at this moment. It doused her with its light and warmth. She wrapped an arm around her middle and released a soft sigh. At least, she shone.

"Mr. President…"

"Mr. President…"

"Fitz…"

The shouts went unnoticed by her. She had grown so used to them. He was always fucking it up for them in some way. Moving to the bar, she poured herself a tumbler of Scotch. There were many who would think that it was too early to drink, but they did not know her. They did not know the torment that Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III had put her through. She had patiently waited this moment and all he continued to do was sink it. Walking to the presidential seat, she lounged quietly and sipped her drink. Right now, she didn't care to hide her disdain. Her brow cocked questioningly and lips turned downwards. Her silence and lack of reaction caught a few looks but she ignored them. In a breath, Mellie glanced around the room. The view was rather pleasant from behind the desk.

"Ma'am," Cyrus breathed laboriously.

She paid him little reaction.

"Ma'am," He shouted.

Mellie flinched.

"What is it, Cyrus," She asked taking a sip of her drink.

"They are taking him to INOVA hospital, I am sure that you would like to accompany them," Cyrus urged.

"Duty calls," Mellie chirped.

Standing, she languidly swept off her pants and walked out of the office. She paused in the doorway and took one last gander around.

Yes, this would suit her just fine.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately, I do not own these characters. If I did, Olitz would have a baby on the way and Mellie would be on her way o-u-t. (;

**Author's Note: **Well, hello there, my pretties. I apologize for my very long delay. I simply cannot thank any of you enough for your well wishes and concerned emails. In truth, life has just been a roller coaster of various events. I cannot promise weekly updates as usual, but I will set to update this twice a week. I hope this update did not disappoint. I wanted to leave, as per usual, a cliffhanger but I hope you could all infer would occurred. The next chapters will tie up some loose ends: why the cell phones don't work, who released the sex tape of Olitz to the press, how Olivia's coping w/the press, and why Fitz can't manage to stay alive. (; I want to thank anyone and all of you who review. They're alway so sweet and I'm always grateful. You are all so amazing.

All the best, S

Good to be back. xoxo


	16. Ch 13 - Promo

The water sloshed around her. It soaked into her pores and washed away her heavy tears. Every sob that wracked her body only fed into the water's waves. As she paddled her feet, the water pushed over the edges. She choked on breaths. Her hands clutched at her bare breasts, hugging her close, and attempting to mimic how he held her. If she could only remember his touch clearly than maybe, just maybe, she could breathe again. No breath left her steadily. Every movement was a choked sob. It began in her belly, ripping from her lungs, and she gasped loudly with aching sobs. A life without him was no life at all.

How could he leave her?


End file.
